Each one is convinced that she is the Mimi with the tragic beauty, the Bohemian who lights every candle as her own burns at both ends.
But only one Mimi takes center stage at Tabby’s Place today.
Her origins story is as unspectacular as it is incomplete. Like so many others, Mimi was found as a stray. Like so many others, Mimi was in mournful condition. Like so many others, Mimi was scooped to semi-safety by Animal Control.
And like no other before or since, Mimi let loose a Bohemian bonanza that shows no sign of burning out.
Through a Happy Set of Circumstances(TM), Mimi pirouetted from Animal Control to Tabby’s Place. Like other mere mortals, we saw a skinny tortie, stretched thin by a hardscrabble life of unknown angst, agita, etcetera. Additional investigation shed light on some sad statistics: Mimi’s kidneys had been battered by time. Mimi’s snout was snorkely, ravaged by rhinitis. Mimi’s abdomen was full of fluid of unknown origin.
We sighed with sadness. We shuffled her into the Lobby, that land of gotta-spoil-em sufferers, seniors and other brave babes who may or may not be long for this world. We feared our time with the tiny watercolor tortie was short.
That belly fluid? Bollocks.
Those crumpled kidneys? Still better than beans.
That skeletal shape? Bring on the meat-mush. (Hold the beans.)
In short, Mimi is doing marvelously, medically and otherwise.
And in short order, Mimi turned the Lobby into an artist’s loft. No palette or beads or crystals would be necessary; no paisley veils or peace signs or incense required. Mimi’s performance art involved sprints of sweetness, bound for laps, blazing into cuddle-company with fellow oldsters, and always, most of all, making much of meat-mush.
You can fit a lot of meat-mush into one six-pound turbo-tortie.
Contrary to the words of some idiot bad-guy character in Rent, Bohemia is far from dead. The irrepressible artist’s spirit, and the unsinkable Mimi Rosenberg, live and thrive and have their being in the Tabby’s Place lobby, where the meat-mush flows to those who need it most, and the time is always right to light your candle.
Viva La Vie Boheme, kittens.