When Aries greeted you, you learned several things:
One black cat can contain one billion watts of excitement.
You — yes, you — are a source of joy.
And, there is no word on Earth more wondrous than “welcome!”
In the space between his raggedy ears and his tuft of a tail, Aries flowed with electricity.
When you visited him in the Community Room, he turned into voltage and valor. Ecstatic, he sprinted to the edge of the table, screeching to a halt like Wile E. Coyote on the edge of a cliff … and sometimes tumbling off, directly into your arms. In his excitement, he forgot all the ordinary “cat calculations” of distance and dignity.
But there was nothing ordinary about Aries, the cat who rammed through hopeless situations like finish line ribbons.
Though his own brittle body was always nagging, he was your first responder if you were having a putrid day. Everyone in your world might say you were a smarmy slab of scrapple, but to one black cat with bald ears, you were proof that it is wonderful to be alive.
But Aries did not merely “greet” you. Aries welcomed you.
It was a curious calling for a cat who’d felt the world’s cold shoulder. Aries first came to Tabby’s Place in 2018, when his former home rolled up like an unwelcome mat. By no fault of his own, Aries was wrenched from the people he trusted.
We would have understood if shut down in sorrow. Instead, Aries ran to his heart’s front door and embraced us before we had time to introduce ourselves. He was here, and we were here, and that was all the proof he needed that everything sad is temporary.
From that day, Aries took “happy” seriously. He was the best friend you always wanted. Your birthday was his favorite holiday. He would save you the last French fry. He wished he could embroider his ebony hairs into your shirt, pants, and soul, so he could always be touching you, even when you are apart.
He did not get sad often, but if he did, he would think of you, and all his sads would turn to glads and dance around in a circle.
Aries was the best listener who ever had ears, the kind who cups all your confessions with kindness. Your voice was a symphony, whether you were singing an aria or explaining why you like the little shopping carts more than the big ones. Aries wanted to hear about your vision board, your victories, your crush on Al Roker, and your horoscope. (Aries may have been Aries, but Aries was a Pisces.)
It came as no surprise when Aries stole the heart of an adopter. We did all the usual weeping and rejoicing, giddy for our little gem and selfishly sad for ourselves.
But soon enough, a sudden storm of symptoms made Aries’ adopter fear they could not give him what he needed. His return was not a moment too soon. Aries was in rapid decline from a liver and gallbladder obstruction.
Our vet team coaxed him back from heaven’s door. Through a heroic series of surgeries that left him with a snub tail the size of a thumbs-up, our scrappy celebrant survived.
Rippling with rebirth, Aries became a cat on a mission. He threw his weight into the work of “welcome.” The Community Room was the perfect command station. Staff and volunteers came and went all day. Comings and goings were equal opportunities to tell people that they are meteors, and thunderbirds, and cooler than Lenny Kravitz, and wanted, and loved.
Sometimes he flew right off the table. Sometimes his gladness made him forget that blankets and chairs are not litter boxes. OK, often.
But all the time, it was wonderful to be alive.
Through the years, medical concerns crowded Aries’ front stoop, but he never let them wipe their feet on his joy. What’s so bad about a rare skin condition when the rarest thing on Earth is a hug? Who’s afraid of gastrointestinal festivities or chemotherapy, when there are people willing to kiss the bald places on your ears, and roast beef exists?
How could he close any door, when there might be someone on the other side who does not know they are welcome?
In Aries’ final year, ringworm required a different door. With his threadbare immune system, he was an all-too-welcoming host for the frustrating skin fungus. What is normally a weeks-long inconvenience stretched into months, as the normal treatment proved futile against his stubborn case.
We could understand why ringworm wanted to hang out with Aries and never leave.
And when it overstayed its welcome, love improvised.
Our staff created “Aries’ Den,” a private suite like no other. Within this little hermitage, our ebony empath lacked for nothing. Day by day, our staff swaddled him with tenderness and friendship. Night by night, Aries dreamed in peace. Life was still wonderful.
Not even the most unwelcome news could convince Aries otherwise.
Liver cancer crept up quietly. All too soon, love’s woeful path was clear. The cat who welcomed everyone needed to be carried to the welcome mat of mercy. But first, our staff drove him to not one, but two, fast-food drive thrus for real cheeseburgers. After years on a prescription diet, today was a day for the happiest meal.
With his patchy belly warm and full, Aries stretched in bliss on the grass outside Tabby’s Place. He peed on it with pride. Going from lap to lap of the people who loved him more than life, he welcomed each kiss as though it were the first, and the best, he had ever felt.
And as Aries closed his eyes on our world for the last time, I believe he received what he lived his life giving.
Aries was welcomed with joy.
Until we meet again, beloved boy, we weep for ourselves but rejoice for you. You lived your quest with all your heart. You have gone from love to boundless love. You have crossed the open door into the life most wonderful.
You will welcome us again someday, and we will never be parted.
Thank you, dear Tabby’s Place family, for making Aries’ eight years at Tabby’s Place a lifetime of love. If you would like to donate in Aries’ memory, please click here. Donations will be doubled for elderly cats. Aries would love that.
Reflections from a few of Aries’ angels at Tabby’s Place:
“Aries and I drove home from the emergency vet with the sun roof open, listening to the Grateful Dead and devouring burgers. We made a pit stop at Wendy’s because he finished his first burger from McDonald’s. I think he enjoyed the ride and the drive-thru, and he 1000% enjoyed the burgers. Back at Tabby’s Place, in the side yard, with the sun shining on him, warm and peaceful, and surrounded by love, he passed. It was a beautiful send-off. And as much as I will miss him, he was ready. I don’t mind that it happened on my birthday. Now, every year on my birthday, I will think of him shining in the sun and all the love.” – Kelly
“I have to say that this is one of the most memorable and kind send offs I have ever been a part of. Thank you to everyone who came to send him off. Aries was such a special boy, and I’m really glad that we were able to bring him home and give him all of his favorite things. Grief is hard. I hope that he remembers his fun drive thru ride, and plenty of sunshine. Run free, little guy.” – Tiana
“All of my memories of Aries have been special. I loved spending time with him. And even though witnessing part of his decline these past days, he was still that loving cat who loved being loved. What I’m going to miss the most is peeking in every morning and seeing him pop up and then saying good morning to him. The relationships you build with these cats and the love you feel is overwhelming and Aries was a very special cat.” – Kimmarie
“Aries was so perfect. Perfectly adorable. Perfectly chatty. Perfectly silly. Perfectly inappropriate in his selection of places to empty his bladder. I will miss him immensely and love him forever.” – Kitty LeFey
“Aries has always had a very special place in my heart. I thought very hard about bringing him home to add to my family, but his litter habits and the fact that I rent made that impossible. He was always the first one to greet me in the morning. He loved attention, especially at the morning meetings. He definitely gave us a run for our money when it was time for medication, but he forgave us quickly. He was so smart and handsome, just a wonderfully unique boy. I will miss him greatly, and I hope he is happy and running free.” – Tiff
“He was a saint.” – Mario