If ever a cat deserved a trip to a fabulous diner, it would be Graham.
Pile his plate with eggs sunny-side-up. He’s had enough scrambling for a lifetime.
Curl the bacon into a smile, for he escaped death’s frown.
Stack the pancakes as high as heaven. They make a fine loveseat for butter.
Better yet, join him for the Graham Slam Breakfast right here at Tabby’s Place.
After all: every new morning is the real big event.
It had been a long time since sunrise when Graham collapsed into Tabby’s Place.
Day and night blur into an eerie twilight when your address is “death’s door.”
Breakfast is a luxury when you have no promise of a next breath.
There had once been a lively light in the feral boy’s soul. He was only two years old, an age when a cat should still be as frolicsome as a firefly.
But the campfire had gone cold.
At six pounds, Graham was all ash and embers. Charcoal fur stretched over his bones.
And then there were his eyes.
A cat’s eyes are prisms of promises, refracting audacious hope. The meekest kitten glitters. The oldest curmudgeon still twinkles for lunch and love.
Look in their eyes, and you will glimpse life’s valor. It is more stubborn than sickness and more brazen than fear. It is not snuffed out by anguish, anxiety, or a delayed meal.
It is the candle in the window that declares, life is still my home.
Graham’s glow was smoldering.
Too weak to meet our gaze, he had retreated to the bunker of his broken body. His sunken eyes looked like twin pits of despair.
But, though he was exhausted, he was not extinguished.
You had to look carefully, but the light was still there.
For the moment.
His caregivers were not an hour too soon when they rushed Graham to the vet. Despite faithful feed, the weight had been falling off him like tears. Once rowdy and robust, he’d grown cloudy and confused.
Now, he was nearly too weak to stand.
All the signposts pointed in one devastating direction.
Graham’s blood work sizzled with stark news. The darkness was swallowing him whole, and it had a name we tremble to speak: panleukopenia, also known as parvo or distemper.
If this sounds familiar, that’s because your cat likely receives a “parvo” or FVRCP vaccine. That protects them from one of the most monstrous diseases known to cat.
“Panleuk” is a brutal foe known for its high mortality rate and difficult treatment. It plays dirty and loathes life.
It was about to meet its worst enemy: Tabby’s Place.
When a cat has panleukopenia, his only hope is that you will walk into the shadows with him. You must commit to an uncompromising fight for life, while keeping other cats safe.
You must turn your own life upside-down, establishing disease control procedures fit for an outbreak zone. You must be meticulous with protocol, and wild with love.
You must understand that each hour together may be your last.
It is a tall order for a cat you love. It is a little outrageous for a pair of sunken eyes you have just met.
But you can call us “outrageous” anytime at Tabby’s Place. Just make sure you call Graham for breakfast, because hope is the daily special.
We were able to say “yes” to Graham because you, dear Tabby’s Place family, have been busy behind the scenes in love’s kitchen all year.
When Graham’s tattered bones slumped into our arms, there was no time to fundraise. He had hours, not days.
We drew upon the Linda Fund, our reserve for the most hopeless cases.
It was like reaching behind the counter and finding fresh-baked bread. Since you gave before you ever saw Graham, Graham would live to see another morning.
And another.
And another.
The emergency hospital pelted panleuk with the firepower of science and stubborn love. And, though the forces of death glowered around him, Graham was encircled by a greater gathering.
The Tabby’s Place family.
But, saving his life was only the beginning.
Graham left the hospital with light in his eyes but no guarantees. Panleuk will steal the bread of life right out of your mouth. Our tireless staff would not let down their guard. Caring for Graham in an isolation ward all his own, they delivered your love daily.
Every ounce he gained was a victory for us all.
Every dinner he demolished was a banquet of hope.
And every morning, for the rest of his life, Graham will feast on the gift you gave him.
Call it a miracle of mercy or medicine. Call it grace, generosity, or the Graham Slam.
Just call our boy for breakfast, day by astonishing day.
And while you’re at it, call the next cat struggling to keep the light on in his eyes, and let him know: we’re on our way. Graham sent us.
Please help us to save that next cat with a donation to the Linda Fund. You will replenish our critical reserve for emergency care, so we can say “yes” when there’s no time to fundraise. A future Graham is counting on you.