Keeping up with cats can be like Whac-a-Mole.

Speaking of which, was anyone else ever troubled by the whole premise? Aren’t there things far more whackworthy than cute, furry moles? I guess “Whac Injustice” or “Whac The Darkness In One’s Own Soul” isn’t quite as arcade-worthy. But I digress.

One day, you think you’ve got a cat all sussed out. So-and-so is a feral – maybe even The Feral To End All Ferals. No doubt about it, no sign of changing it. That’s just the way so-and-so (whose name may or may not rhyme with Bobro) is. So when you’re giving a visitor the grand tour of Tabby’s Place, you introduce so-and-so as being feral and angry and needful of much caution.

That’s when both so-and-so and your guest decide to surprise you.

“Oh!” GuestLady cries out. “His name is Dobro?” 
“Right,” I answer, imagining she’s a musician. “Like the guitar.”
“No, I was thinking Dobro like the Bosnian word,” GuestLady remarks. Oh. Bosnian vocabulary. How silly of me not to think of that.
“Really? What does ‘Dobro’ mean in Bosnian?” I ask. My gears start turning. Imagine if ‘Dobro’ is Bosnian for ‘saber-toothed tiger,’ or ‘wild savage beast,’ or ‘Machine Gun Preacher of the cat world?’

GuestLady grins. “Good!”
“Good?”
“Yeah, ‘Dobro’ means ‘good.'”

Dobro means good.

Well, Dobro defenders everywhere, color me repentant of all my cracks about Dobro’s feral form. At that instant, the scales fell from my eyes. For a moment of time, I saw Dobro’s truth: he is good. Not “good” as in “Shirley Temple.” Not “good” as in “well behaved by any reasonable definition.” Not “good” as in “able to be trusted within 5 inches of human flesh.” But most definitely “good” as in “fearfully, wonderfully made, worthy of vast love and admiration.”

Following this revelation, Dobro thanked GuestLady with several long, loving blinks. He then hissed loudly and scrambled up the ramp. He’s good…and he’s especially good at being Dobro, exactly the wild way he is.

There’s been good, hard-to-keep-up kinda news farther east in Tabby’s Place this week, too. (OK, I don’t know if the lobby is technically east, west, north or south of Suite A. But let’s just say east.)

Longtime readers of this blog will remember that bodacious, inscrutable tortie lady, Toya, from Suite C. The girl with the Nikki Minaj-sized attitude (and equally flamboyant markings) has been a quieter cat since her return to Tabby’s Place a little over a year ago. It’s evident to everyone that the tortie queen is a little older and a little sadder since her adopter’s passing. If there’s one thing that makes our good hearts grieve, it’s a sad cat.

So Toya has gone the way of so many sad cats before her: the promised land, that cushiest, wet-foodiest abode in all of Tabby’s Place…the lobby. Getting moved into the lobby is kind of like winning the lottery, the Oscars, Cupcake Wars  and the heart of Anderson Cooper all in a single day. Once you’re there, the ’round-the-clock wet food and human affection never end. The lobby is just a few notches below literal, actual heaven.

Toya’s getting her good groove back now that she’s the latest lobby diva. Even cats like Jenny and Geoff, with robust egos of their own, make way for the queen, letting Toya take her place in Jonathan’s office. The lobby’s been tortie-hungry for some time now…and Toya is just the girl for the job.

So, to cite a certain Tabby’s Place volunteer, it is, indeed, all good. Just make sure you get your definition of “good” from the right species. 😉

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