It is universally accepted that every cat speaks fluent French and Klingon. Their Italian is more limited. So they will need our help with this one.
Ready, amici?
What is the true meaning of “Affogato?”
Perhaps you are picturing a scoop of gelato, baptized in espresso and liquore.
Perhaps you know that the word also translates to “drowned.”
Perhaps dual meanings do not need to duel.
The truest Affogato I know is a brown tabby. Affogato would put a second bendy straw in his milkshake to share with you. Affogato would drop an armful of calamari in order to hug you.
Affogato would peel the mozzarella off his lasagna and stick it to his forehead like a label if that’s what it took to secure your kiss.
Perhaps we are biased at Tabby’s Place. Our namesake wore caramel stripes and licorice spots. Around here, we believe brown tabbies are the highest of beings, just an inch below the angels.
But even among these treasures, Affogato stands alone.
This is all the more poignant, given that Affogato suffered alone.
We were not there when Affogato injured his eye or fractured his jaw. We cannot know how the tabby with the gooey heart was poured out and left behind.
Given only half-teaspoons of stories, we do not engage in conjecture. We know enough to cry in our cappuccino without having to add vinegar.
We know that he was already neutered.
We know that he was middle-aged.
We know that he was, in the words of the good Samaritan who found him, “mostly friendly.”
(We know that we made many inappropriate jokes about other individuals we know who are “neutered, middle-aged, and mostly friendly.”)
And we know that we are Tabby’s Place, where no cat is forgotten.
If you have been abandoned, you get the softest bed and the biggest scoop. If you have been crushed, you get a fountain of kisses. If you have nearly drowned, you get the warmest place in the sun.
If you are Affogato, you get named for cream and caffeine, the sweetness that is only stronger for its bitter splash.
Affogato’s order would not be a simple recipe. Our injured angel would need his eye removed and his jaw wired. The first sounds worse, but the second is where sweetness turns stubborn. Cats do not always do well with wired jaws, and hunger strike is a real danger.
Affogato would need someone to sit with him while he ate, a personal “meal mascot” to scoop congratulations into every bite.
Affogato would need to handled as gently as a pizzelle, human hands turning to angel wings so as not to re-injure him.
Affogato would need to know that, even before we knew his face, we prepared a place for him at Tabby’s Place.
Which we did. You did.
As a Linda Fund cat par excellence, our ragged ragazzo is here today because of decisions you made yesterday. When Affogato was injured, there was no time to fundraise. When a cat is drowning in pain, we can’t put him on hold while we dredge for donations.
You donated last year, so Affogato could live today.
This is the power of the Linda Fund.
Come to think of it, we — you and Tabby’s Place, together — were there when Affogato was injured. In love’s mysterious time machine, we were by his side.
Fast forward to today, and life itself is on Affogato’s side.
Every hour is dessert.
He is drowning in devotion, and returning the favor…in a forever home.
He is hoping that love is our first language, and that he won’t be the last cat we love in advance.
Your Linda Fund gift today will save someone wonderful in the months ahead.
Someone we can’t imagine how we ever lived without.
Someone who very easily might not have lived at all.
Maybe even a brown tabby.
What is the true meaning of “Affogato?”
Nothing less than la dolce vita.