If cats were human celebrities,* Wolfie would be Danny DeVito.
Divya would be Adele.
And Cammi, without doubt, would be Elizabeth Taylor.
Like Liz, Cammi has otherworldly eyes that need no mascara to bat you into stunned, smitten submission.
Like Cleopatra herself, Cammi’s a little confused and a touch outraged about having to share accommodations with all these peons.
And like that much-married diva, Cammi tends to collect weird friends, and to love them to the death. Except that they are all, in this case, still alive, which is fortunate.
Cammi and her celestial eyes came to Tabby’s Place through our Exceptional Circumstances Program. The little glamour cat had littered kittens repeatedly. She was rescued, loved with violety, velvety devotion…and suddenly caught in a catastrophe beyond her control, or that of her humans.
Happily, Cammi’s crew knew they had a superstar on their hands, and they loved her with lavish generosity. Our dazed diamond came to Tabby’s Place, where we were immediately in her thrall and blubbering with bliss just to do her bidding.
All was well back in Quarantine. Like a queen upon her throne, Cammipatra sent her servants to and fro, fetching fresh fish mush and warm fleece and dancing men for her enjoyment.** If she couldn’t be in her previous home, she could at least be unrivaled empress, and that would be just fine.
But nobody floated that message down the Nile to Suite B.
Perhaps we should have known better. You don’t shop for Wolfie in the Super-Skinny Salad Shoppe. You don’t buy Divya copies of How To Increase Your Self-Confidence. And you don’t — not if you have a brain that functions — expect Cammi to consider herself equal to such primordial creatures as Carrot and Cypress and, oh good heavens, Steven. Steven! The man does not even use a litter box consistently!
But, glamazon though she may be, Cammi isn’t entirely imperious. Although our little luminary was wary of her new neighbors, overwhelmed and overwrought and over-OHHH! oozing out of her oversized eyes, she didn’t want any trouble.
She did her best, really. She napped next to Iman, if and only if Iman was completely unconscious. She dozed within head-bonking distance of the dust bunnies on top of the cabinet. (Like I said, weird friends.) She only shrieked her ladylike chirrrrrrup of disdain when necessary, which was often in the case of Steve. When she walked by Carrot, she pulled off her giant diamond earrings and dropped them into his lap, drawling, “these have always brought me luck.”
But none of the cats knew what to do with such a spectacular creature, and neither did Cammi know what to do with herself. She was — her words, not mine — a pearl among the weenies.
So she did the one thing that’s always worked in her favor: she played to the balcony.
Since that’s where the hapless humans sit, she was victorious, completely.
You can experience her victory yourself. Walk into
Suite B Cammi’s Palace, and you’ll be lured by the smoothest coo this side of a hot tin roof. There are probably other cats around, but you’re staggering towards the siren, oblivious to your surroundings and your own mind. Cammi is calling, and you must answer.
Her song skitters up the scale as she calls to you, rubbing now, rubbing everything in sight, except Steven, who does not, in her eyes, deserve to be included among “everything.” No matter. Cammi’s eyes and yours are locked in one otherworldly wavelength, and you’re petting her, and she’s purring, and you are utterly gone, and you have no intention of returning.
And then Leah dive-bombs you out of the sky, and Misty projectile vomits across the room, and the moment is over.
But the bond you’ve forged — that’s forever. Congratulations: you’ve been reduced to soup, and you will never be the same.
Well played, Cammi. All hail the queen.
*If cats were human celebrities, that would be several steps down for them. But that goes without saying.
**I can neither confirm nor deny the literalism of this statement.