Tabby’s Place may or may not have a Diabetic Mafia.*

The Diabetic Mafia may or may not have a Don…na.

Now, before you get all concerned, let me put your mind at ease. The Diabetic Mafia (DM) exists for no darker purpose than to secure all meat that enters the building. The other Mafia controls the ports; the DM controls the Lounge.

Loudly.

With a diabetic population that’s risen to five feline persons, it recently became necessary to have a Diabeetus Suite, where all such persons could beat the ‘beetus together. And so it was that Zencada, Reese, Jackie and brand-spanking-new Donna descended upon the Lounge. (By a special dispensation from Don Jon himself, Missy got to stay in her BFF Danielle’s office. But make no mistake; Donna keeps close tabs on that missing Miss.)

Everyone has a role in this glucose-rich co-op. “Little Pieces” Reese has charge over the skies. A permanent resident of the window perch, Reese monitors all incoming aircraft for meat deliveries. When not engaged in this critical task, Reese attempts to annihilate her neighbors and/or get kissed ten thousand times by humans. Widely considered the most fashionable DMember, Little Pieces is rarely seen without her purple necklace, bestowed upon her by a foreign prince for the purpose of convincing her not to annihilate her neighbors and other “stress-related behaviors.” No, I’m actually not making that up, OK not all of it.

Then there’s “Wacky Is A Dang Understatement” Jackie. She’s crushed chronic eye issues. She’s outfoxed obesity. She’s currently clobbering cancer. Diabetes doesn’t dent this dame. That’s fortunate for everyone involved, because Jackie has a high security clearance and a very serious job. It’s Wacky-J’s task to inspect all additions to The Free Box. Researchers at MIT and Stanford believe The Free Box is the only actual black hole existing on Earth, where items unwanted by staff, volunteers, and 85% of the population of New Jersey go to die. Jackie is too much woman to simply accept such hearsay, however. It is entirely possible that Slim Jims and/or full sides of beef may be deposited in The Free Box, and when they are, they will not elude Jackie’s grasp.

Zencada “The Sweetheart” may seem like the meekest member of the DM. Candy-bar-colored and permanently sad-eyed, tortie Zen is no nebbish, however. While Little Pieces and Wacky-J scan the skies and the Stuff, The Sweetheart is on the front lines of Actual Meat Inspection (AMI). It’s a demanding job, not suited to anyone who has a spouse or a hobby or any sort of wanderlust, but Zen has just the heart and mettle for it. Twenty-nine hours a day, she’s stationed atop the Lounge table, patrolling the perimeter and responding immediately to all reports of Actual Meat. Give The Sweetheart some sympathy; in her unyielding investigations, she’s had the sorry experience of accidentally eating leeks, Dorito crumbs and half a Volkswagen. But she’ll never falter; if a human is eating lunch, The Sweetheart is on the scene.

With such a robust team, what duty could remain to Donna?

In any power-pack, the one with the most nicknames has the most authority. Whether you call her “Don Donna,” “The Donna,” “Oh Donna,” or simply “The Siren,” there’s no question who’s in charge of the DM. She may be the newest arrival; she may appear to do little more than stretch, goddess-like, across the couch and yell for love; but OH! Donna has fully mastered her situation the universe.

Don’t believe me? Just listen.

You won’t find a louder cat at Tabby’s Place.
You won’t find a cat with a wider flip-top head in New Jersey.
You won’t find a more irresistibly lovable, hilariously haughty, outrageously orange assassin-of-bacon on any planet.

But The Siren bears a secret. While her neighbors live for liverwurst and such, the Donna has higher aspirations. Donna does not want to be fed so much as to be loved. Donna does not want to be loved in the ordinary ways.

Donna wants to be heard.

Donna is thoughtful enough that she won’t even make you lean in too close. (In fact, don’t; you’ll burst an eardrum.) Donna will be heard, and so loved, and she will not be denied, no never.

And that, my friends, is why Donna is The Donna. It is a rare and fearsome thing to be truly listened to in this life, and only the brave will truly hear and be heard in love. So, yes, certainly bring insulin and prosciutto…but before and after the feast, lend Donna your ears.

Don’t refuse.

*Calm down, kittens. Being both Italian and a Type I diabetic, I am 100% allowed to make jokes about Italians and diabeetus. Diabeetusbeetusbeetusbeetusbeetusbeetusbeetus.

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