It is a glorious thing to be a cheesy guy.
You crack jokes that don’t hurt anyone’s feelings.
You get tearful when you hear “The Rainbow Connection,” especially the Willie Nelson version. (Cheesy guys love Willie Nelson.)
You’re so warm, you never worry about being “cool.”
But this summer, one cheesy guy’s hope was melting fast.
If Cheddar wanted to be invisible, he was born in the wrong body.
He is not merely orange. He is the most “orange” orange since the origin of orange.
He is maximum marmalade. He is that stripe of sunrise where red turns gold. He is the sum total of all good cheese, with a smile like elbow macaroni.
Cheddar is “Tabby’s Place orange,” as bright as the cat in our logo.
In a world of the jaded and blasé, cheesy guys always stand out.
And being different saved his life.
When a beautiful person saw the neon heap of fur, he just had to come running. What could that bright puddle be? Was it the aftermath of a troll’s haircut, or an abandoned quesadilla?
No, it was a cat, collapsed and barely alive.
Moved to kindness, the beautiful person scraped Cheddar from the sidewalk.
But where do you run, when your arms are full of “hopeless?” There are stray cats in every cul-de-sac, and it is hard enough to find homes for the healthy ones.
Who has room for a little limp stray with neon needs?
Only somebody cheesy enough to choose the unchosen.
Only a family where grim, grilled odds melt into the daily bread of stubborn love.
Only a place with a logo so orange, it is a lighthouse for the littlest, the last, and the lost.
The dying Cheddar was reborn as a Tabby’s Place cat.
But there was no time to come to Tabby’s Place. Cheddar was so “neurologically inappropriate,” his only hope was immediate, intensive care at a state-of-the-art hospital.
In the bleak face of his symptoms, the word “hope” sounded almost childlike…cheesy.
Plus, there was no way to know what his care might cost, or what the days ahead might bring. Recovery — if the flattened feral could somehow survive — might be long and winding, a breadcrumb trail of uncertainties.
Were we really up for this? All for a stray?
“All for a stray” is our DNA. Besides: Cheddar was already family.
But it was almost too late. Cheddar had suffered a hemorrhagic stroke, a brain stem bleed. The best hypothesis was that he’d been exposed to toxins, perhaps by eating a mouse who had ingested rat poison.
Treatment was failing. The brightest orange cat was fading away.
The end seemed near. But an “impossible” beginning was brewing.
If you have ever donated to the Linda Fund, you were by Cheddar’s bedside as valiant vet techs and brilliant doctors tended him.
Your love flowed through their gifted hands in those perilous hours.
You were there as they made the agonized decision to move forward with an MRI, even though Cheddar was nearly too fragile for anesthesia.
We all held our breaths that night, sleepless and shredded. Cheddar already meant so much to his Tabby’s Place family. We could not bear to lose him.
We are cheesy that way, getting attached with no guarantees. Before we have time to guard our hearts, our lives get melted together with a stray we have scarcely met.
Love is always high-risk.
But you were there as the experts in high-risk anesthesia assembled around our ravaged red boy.
The MRI began.
In a soulful sandwich of scientific excellence and unconditional love, Cheddar survived.
The specialists devised a new plan, and the most orange cat began to brighten. Even after all he had endured, Cheddar was sharp and alert.
Though he could scarcely lift his head, he gazed, lovestruck and melty, into the kind eyes of his nurses and doctors.
Soon, he was grooming himself, purring like a train full of cheese curls. Cheddar couldn’t eat without assistance, but if someone held his dish, he became a gobbly dervish of delight.
As life danced back into his body, Cheddar rolled and lolled for belly rubs, gooey with gladness for the smallest touch. His eyes were so splendorous, he looked like a child who has just tasted grilled cheese for the first time, homemade by someone who loves him … or like a cat who just realized he’s the orange heart of a family who comes together, all for a stray.
He knows what you did for him, Tabby’s Place family.
Like I said: Cheddar is sharp.
Cheesy guys always are. People don’t know this. (Cheesy guys don’t mind. They are too busy loving.)
The emergency vet team spoiled Cheddar as though he were the most important cat who ever walked the Earth. Which, of course, he is … whether or not he is ever able to walk again.
For, even here, on the bright, buttery side of this story, there are no guarantees. He may always need heroic care. He will never be an “ordinary” guy.
Cheddar has outlived the impossible, and now we will live one question at a time together. “Together” is its own answer.
Love is constancy, not certainty.
And the most orange cat has made his rainbow connection.
Now he gets to be a cherished, cheesy guy.
Thank you for saving Cheddar, Tabby’s Place family.
Oh, but this story is not quite over.
Remember that beautiful neighbor?
He and his beautiful family didn’t just happen to find Cheddar. They were meant to find Cheddar.
He melted their hearts. And now, he is the heart of their home. Forever.
You can save the next Cheddar with a gift to our Linda Fund Matching Challenge. Set aside for cats in extraordinary medical crises, your donation will be doubled. But please act now. The Matching Challenge ends on 9/30, and stories like Cheddar’s go on.