To love Angelo was not to love “a cat.”

It was not even to love “a white cat of ample size.”

To love Angelo was to love several smiling universes, smuggled into one feline form.

If Angelo were a borough, he would be Brooklyn. If Angelo were a confection, he would be a cannoli. If Angelo were a philosophy, he would be, “Why be one thing, when you can be everything?”

But Angelo was Angelo, which is all of the above and considerably more.

We could not have guessed this in 2008. Half our current staff was still in middle school, and the world had yet to suffer a pandemic or three Twilight movies.

Angelo arrived in the usual way, just hours out of a “hopeless situation.” Our newest cat, resident #693, was a blank journal, fresh as his white coat.

Well, there were a few splashes of ink. His record was sparse and strange. Angelo had been surrendered to a public shelter for inappropriate elimination (common) and the fact that “when his adopter attempted to wear him around her neck like a scarf, he bit her” (slightly less common). He was declawed, yet not neutered.

He had every reason to be prickly, but he turned to marshmallow fluff in our arms. He had been rejected, so he elected himself Accepter In Chief.

With humans, that is.

If you knew Angelo in the last decade, this may be hard to believe. But the Angelo of 2008 – c. 2013 had a bit of cayenne in his cannoli.

I wouldn’t call him aggressive, not exactly. An aggressive cat (or child, or Congressperson) thrums with anxiety, his anger driven by a desire for calm. But Angelo had no agita about other cats. He was not distressed by their presence.

He was simply delighted by the opportunity to cannonball into their personal space. As his eyes glittered, you could almost hear him giggle, “boom!”

Angelo meant no harm. He just knew that life is meant for mirth, and messing with other cats is hilarious.

Sometimes.

To love Angelo was to love a cat of white-chocolate complexity. Just when we thought we knew our purring protagonist — hug-glutton with humans, hooligan with cats — he stapled new pages into his diary. On closer inspection, they were love letters.

Angelo had met Mary, and the sea level of love rose ten feet across the earth.

All at once, the court jester became the king of hearts. White and grey fur gathered in a cuddle pile, purring in synchrony. Angelo was infatuated. Angelo was exhilarated. Angelo was more complicated than ever before.

Angelo was fully alive.

When he wasn’t administering affection to every available human and one Mary, Angelo was exulting in existence all the way to the atomic level.

He was (for several consecutive years) the heaviest cat at Tabby’s Place. This was not because he was a glutton, although he would not be offended by that title. He was the largest cat because he saw the universe inside the littlest joys. A single kibble enraptured him. (Seven hundred kibbles were better, but he still appreciated the one.)

He was ravenous for sunbeams and chin skritches. When squeeze-tuna was invented several years into his tenure, he nearly died of joy, by which I mean he became even more alive.

When you are as overstuffed as Angelo, you cannot keep all your power to yourself, even if you try. Of course, Angelo never tried such a thing.

In the early days of smacking neighbors, his goal was simply to wake them up: “do you not know? Have you not seen? There are five billion pounds of wonderful on every molecule!”

In the arms of Mary, he was one with warmth, rumbling thanksgivings into the silver pom-pom with the heart of gold.

But Tabby’s Place was too small for Angelo’s power and light, so he signed up for our Aged to Purrfection program.

We select cats to visit local nursing homes. We have a meticulous protocol for ensuring that “ATP” participants are gentle and unflappable.

Angelo recruited himself, and proceeded to practice resurrection with his new old friends. In his wake, aging eyes crinkled like gift wrap on Christmas morning. His purrs and presence were a joy to “his” seniors. His greatest present was reminding them that they were still gifts.

All the while, Angelo was getting older. But a cat who contains universes cannot be swallowed up by “old.”

Far less can he be nibbled by neurosis, especially over something as daft as the concept of “unadoptable.”

Yes, Angelo was adopted and returned, twice. Yes, a reputation for inappropriate elimination will cross you off most short-lists and probably damage your chances of getting into Yale.

And so what?

Angelo already had a kingdom where he was the big cannoli. He could not count the cats and humans who were smitten to smithereens. He had a high-powered job convincing us all that we were adorable. He had Mary.

He lost Mary. The world lost Mary. The world will never fully recover.

Some say that Angelo turned quieter when his soulmate slipped the veil. Was it age? Is there a vow of silence when you join the fellowship of grief?

Or did Angelo still have universes yet to unfurl?

The white comet’s next stop was our Hospital Suite. The now-aged Angelo was just the cat to supervise our veterinary staff, while lobbing one-liners at Luna … and then Lola.

She was not Angelo’s first love, and she may not have been his greatest love. But make no mistake: the celestial city boy and the tuxedo with ten egos were a match made in Tabby’s Place.

Against all odds, two towering personalities built a bungalow of mutual respect and affection. There was no end to Angelo’s love of life. The only larger entity was life’s love of Angelo.

Life and Angelo were supposed to last forever.

But a cat’s kidneys can shrivel into curmudgeons, even if all the universes are on his side. While we weren’t looking, Angelo turned sixteen … seventeen … eighteen … and his beluga body slimmed to starlight.

At last, the body that had lived so large gave out. Love’s last task was mercy, and it took everything.

We are grieving more than “a cat” today.

We are grieving a friend who opened up door after door of delight, always running a few steps ahead. “Do you not know? Have you not seen? We are alive!”

We are grieving a glimpse of ourselves as lovable, even when we are lonely or loutish, even when we are inappropriate.

We are grieving universes that did not exist until Angelo arrived.

Yet, we are trusting that Angelo will never truly leave.

In the alchemy of love and sorrow, loss fails to subtract what life gave. I believe, not only that we will hold Angelo again, but that he is present even now.

He is with Mary, purring the bliss of the beloved.

He is in every sunbeam, astonished that mornings multiply.

He is giggling beside us at every good meal, congratulating us on pounds gained and songs sung.

He is our Angelo, forever, and we are his. Until we meet again, mirthful king, we adore you.

No words can do justice to our Angelo, but I am grateful to our staff and Board for helping me attempt the impossible. The following reflections come from a few of those who loved Angelo more than life:

Tiana, Staff: “My sweet angel boy … we had a lot of fun floor time. I have no words, I’m just immensely sad about our boy.”

Tiff, Staff: “Just the sweetest, most tolerant boy. I will miss him so much. Always had a smile on his face. “

Karina, Staff: “I can’t imagine a Tabby’s Place without Angelo. He has been here nearly as long as I have. He’s just always been there. I knew him through his ‘largest cat at Tabby’s Place,’ butt kicker days, to his mellow, older, easy-going days. Through it all, he loved one thing the most … food! I always loved how Angelo would look up at me, with such a gentle expression, and love in his eyes. I am honored to have had this gentle soul in my life. Even though it hurts so much to lose him, I will never forget the wonderful times we had together. I love you, Angelo.”

Lisa, Staff: “I’m finding it difficult to adjust to a Tabby’s Place without Angelo. When I began volunteering and was doing the thorough clean of what was then the Weight Management Suite, Angelo was one of the residents. The words that immediately come to mind are ‘loyal’ and ‘steadfast.’ Angelo was never an in your face sort of cat (although he did have a history of not-nice play with others), and yet his presence was always felt. It filled a room and it made all of those around him (feline and human) feel safe and content. As big a presence as Lola is in the medical suite, the room feels empty and wanting in his absence. Even Lola seemed unsure of what to say or feel. I love you, Angelo. I always have loved you, and I always will love you.”

Kitty LeFey, Board Member: “My first impression of Angelo was of a big, beautiful chonk of marshmallow with bits of charry goodness at the edges. He was sweet and just adored attention. It was hard to disengage from a visit. Angelo’s sweetness defies description. He was a friend to all, and his presence at Tabby’s Place was a constant and a comfort. His absence shall be born, but only because we have no choice and because so many of us are aching together. The medical suite will never be the same. Neither will we.”

Carolyn, Staff: “Angelo was a cat that exuded ‘Gentle Giant’ energy since I met him when I started at Tabby’s Place. Even through his (needed) weight loss, he had a big presence. He wore many hats during his time with us and he took those roles very seriously: Mary’s Pillow, Baby’s Diet Buddy, Cat Carrier Keeper, and lover of Bair Huggers, Lickable Spoons, and random papers on the floor (and feet, but we don’t have to mention that). Angelo was a cat that could both cheer you up and calm you down. Somehow, he always seemed to be just what you needed when you needed a cat friend. I’ll miss you always buddy.”

Video by Grace, starring Angelo with Tiana:

More Blog Posts