We are so afraid of the mists and the maybes.

Ash was not afraid of anything.

If anyone had a right to be afraid, it was the misty cat with Earth’s most serious eyes. Losing your person can hobble any heart. But to start all over when your long whiskers are silver, and your golden years were just within reach, is a fearsome prospect.

Throw in a suite of ragamuffins and jesters, and fear gets loud.

Either that, or you get soft. This is only possible when you are very, very brave.

You have already guessed that Ash was very, very brave.

She enfolded Suite B like a grey cardigan, generously oversized and as soft as nostalgia. She set her sights on other cats (especially Vinnie and Brian) for no reason other than that she was fond of them. When your heart is both brave and kind, no reason is necessary.

Ash saw us all, from the elastic teenage volunteer in headphones to the exhausted staff member who just had a fight with her mother. And I do mean that Ash saw us, which is more than noticing or spotting. To see someone, you have to look and keep looking. To see someone, you have to look until you find reason to be fond of them, only to find you never needed any reason at all.

To see someone, you have to be very, very brave.

Ash was never the most pyrotechnic cat in the room. She lacked all sense of urgency, as well as the sharp elbows that jab through hours with haste. While frantic cats filibustered for admiration, Ash was not scared of shadows and sidelines.

If you wait in the wings, you might run into an angel. If you wait long enough, you might even be seen.

This being Tabby’s Place, Ash was seen, known, and loved before her first breakfast on the premises. But like the universe, love is ever growing. Love is expansive, not a scratchy sweater. Love is as gentle as the stripes of a grey tabby, and always right on time.

How I wish we had more time.

But love demands that we become very, very brave.

Ash sprinkled love over her courage. The cat who lost her home became a home for us all. She was the warm hearth for Suite B, and for all the scared people who slipped in and out its door. (That should cover all of us.) She was been a true story under the tumult of 2024.

The cat with every reason to be afraid gave us reason to love life even in the mist.

It was the least we could do to be very, very brave for Ash.

The worry began with cheek-puffing. This is a strange symptom. A cat may look like she is trying to blow out her birthday candles, or doing an impression of a chipmunk. But Ash’s puffs progressed to mild distress. When you love someone, “mild” distress is still far too much. Our vet team did a full work-up.

They found a mass. Ash almost certainly had cancer.

We yearned for months that would expand into years. It has happened before. Sometimes mist and maybes put the brakes on mourning.

We did not know that we would scarcely have days. We only knew that Ash had us.

Ash still has us. Forever.

C.S. Lewis said,  “No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear..” I cannot lie and tell you that we are not afraid. When you know you can slip into Suite B and be seen by the softest of cats, you do not know what you will do without her.

So we will do what Ash, the cat who asked so little, would request. We will love with the love we’ve been given. We will warm each other with the comfort of the grey-cardigan cat.

We will love her forever, and we will be very, very brave.

Until we meet again, thank you, precious Ash.

Reflections from some of Ash’s most devoted friends:

Tiff, Staff: “It took her a while to trust us. She and her siblings went through a horrible situation. When she finally came around, I would go in and see her pop her little head out of a cubby, to see if she was getting food or treats. Of course, I gave her anything she wanted. I loved to walk by the room and see her looking at the door, waiting for her next meal. I loved her and thought about taking her home many times, but I knew that my crew would be too much for her. I will miss her so much, especially her loudly yelling at me for treats.”

Karina, Staff: “Ash was one of my favorites (don’t tell the other cats), and I will miss her deeply. We bonded over her medications, of all things! She had been taking her meds in a pill pocket, but then wouldn’t eat it for me, so I had to pill her. The first time I did this she was very angry with me, but was much better for the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and so on. The day she let me pet her was I will not forget. I thought my heart would burst with joy. After that first pet, I was allowed to pet her all the time, and she would even come over to to me for attention. I love and miss you, Ash, and you are forever in my heart. Thank you for being my friend.”

Kitty Le Fey, Board Member: “Ash was shy. But, she watched. Ash was nervous, but she purred. Ash was sweet and affectionate. Eventually, she found her voice, and I melted. Then, Ash met Brian, and her loving him made me love her even more. Ash-Brian lap time was a treasure. Ash chirp-and-scritch time was a restorative salve. But Ash had a too-real battle for her life, which she waged side by side with our amazing staff and volunteers. When Ash passed through the veil, she left more than one broken-hearted person behind. My own wound is raw now, as are others’, but time spent with the marvelous, gentle Ash is a gift that will remain forever, just as she will remain forever loved.”

Lisa, Staff: “My favorite memory is also when she started looking out of the cubby to see if treats were coming. I loved walking by her suite, and pausing to see her cute little face pop out.”

Grace, Staff: “I remember the first time she meowed her cute little meow at me while i was getting everyone’s meds and treats together. I hadn’t heard her make a peep before, so I was confused as to who it was. When I turned around and she meeped again, my heart melted.”

Thanks to Grace for this wonderful video:

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