Spend time with cats, and you will believe in more than you ever believed before.

You will believe in a friendship bigger than family, and a family big enough for all of us.

You will believe in the power of a “plain brown tabby.”

You will believe there are no coincidences.

It was no coincidence that Amigo‘s name was the Spanish word for “friend.”

We are pretty sure the linguistic origin of “amigo” is our Amigo. If you were searching for a word to describe someone who loves you and likes you at the same time, you could just point at the cat: “that’s what I’m trying to say. Him.”

If he were a “plain brown tabby,” Amigo would be made of fur and whiskers, with a pinch of ego and a dollop of wit. But Amigo was assembled entirely from kindness and warmth. He had empathy in place of electrons.

Every cell in his body was an open door, with a welcome mat reading, I Love You Already.

It was no coincidence that Amigo came to Tabby’s Place. When his cherished person passed away, he needed an instant family of friends.

We are sloppy and slaphappy with the word “friend” around here. We slather that term on cats who melt like mousse in our arms and cats who spit like cobras.

Out in the world, “friendship” can be limited, as in, “I really like Floyd, but I’m not gonna go to his clarinet recital. He’s just a friend.”

Out in the world, “family” can be obligatory, as in, “we have to invite Aunt Mafalda, even though she has not had anything nice to say since 1974.”

But Amigo came to our little world, where love is larger than language.

At Tabby’s Place, every particle and wave of every cat is both friend and family.

It was no coincidence that Amigo shared his suite with Shelly. The fudge-striped tabby and the velveteeny-tiny tortie had both been “befriended” by feline leukemia virus (FeLV). Those four letters threaten to kick cats out of the family of the living. But Quinn’s Corner, our sunniest cul-de-sac, is where FeLVies flourish.

And when you are flourishing, you forget the less friendly features of your story.

OK, so Amigo was elderly. Yep, Shelly had no eyes. Those are little, laughable matters when you have a family of volunteers who vault from work and school to hug you and shower you with snacks as early as possible.

Side by side with Shelly, Amigo purred peace for all his people. The rigorous qualification for being “Amigo’s people” was to exist. (If you couldn’t muster that, Amigo would make an exception.)

Amigo was especially excited when his friends stayed for dinner. Even Splendorous Salmon tastes better when your very best-sister-friend-grandpa-auntie is holding your little white dish for you. (Did you not know that you could be Amigo’s sister-friend-grandpa-auntie? Well, Amigo used language more accurately than we did. Even his newest acquaintance was something like his cousin-soulmate-meemaw-confidante.)

It was no coincidence that Amigo was the exact size of a human lap. This was true no matter the lap in question. Like an accordion of affection, Amigo could expand or contract to fit you. That is what happens when you love someone bigger than language can hold.

Amigo had learned that kind of love from his Mom.

It was no coincidence that Amigo’s friends rounded up every meat product from Secaucus to Spain. As Amigo’s appetite began drooping, all the amigos were on the case.

One kindred spirit brought a bazillion broths. One favorite uncle assembled a skyline of squeeze-treats. Our whole family of friends turned ferocious in trying to find what Amigo would eat. They held his dishes and held back tears when he took a few bites.

We all held out hope that Amigo’s symptoms might not be serious.

But the diagnosis was far from friendly. Amigo had renal cancer, and his time was short.

From the hour the news broke, broken hearts patched together the hours and days with lap time and soft kisses. You almost needed a deli-counter ticket to wait your turn to see Amigo, as a devoted stream of amigos filled each day with devotion.

Somewhere not so far away, Amigo’s Mom began calling him home for dinner.

It was no coincidence that Amigo passed away on the International Day of Friendship. As the world celebrated the faces who feel like home, Amigo traveled from love to love. Leaving our laps, he awoke in the family circle where friendship learns its full name.

Amigo.

It is no coincidence that you were ours, dear boy, and we were yours.

May your Mom’s voice be even more beautiful than you remember.

May the circle be unbroken.

Until we meet again, thank you for being our family, our friend, our Amigo.

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