“We Don’t Talk About Bruno” is an unforgettable song from Encanto.
But we talked non-stop about Bruno, the cat who tried to stay forgotten … and enchanted us instead.
We talked about Bruno when he was only a plea and a photograph. Coney Island was no carnival for the feral outcast shunned by his fellow felines.
The other cats in his colony shared moonlit meals and boardwalk fun, but the droopy guy with the Steve Buscemi eyes was not welcome.
The colony caregivers reached out in desperation. There was no explanation for why all the cats disliked Bruno, but there is no talking cats out of their opinions. As if the story weren’t sad enough, Bruno’s human friends included a picture that broke our hearts … once we stopped laughing.
The meekest mobster was eating out of the same bowl as a rather muscular Coney Island rat.
We talked about Bruno when we worried how he would like the indoor life. He may have been lonely in the shadows of the Steeplechase, but at least there was freedom and the omnipresent scent of chili dogs.
We typically do not take truly feral cats at Tabby’s Place, as they are distressed by handling and depressed when confined. The best way to love them is to honor them for who they are, which means neutering them and nestling them in safe colonies.
But there was no safety for the sorrowful senior outdoors. Not only was Bruno Brooklyn’s purrless pariah, he was also suffering from painful entropion.
The diagnosis was all too fitting: like the cats in his colony, Bruno’s own eyelashes had turned against him. More precisely, they had turned inward, scratching his gloomy eyes with every blink.
And so, just before Halloween 2023, the hapless cat with the haunted eyes became our cat. A Tabby’s Place cat. Bruno, the beloved cat.
We talked about Bruno as our vet team mended him. Whether or not we could ever cuddle him, we would prove to Bruno that he belonged. We settled him into a sunny room with neighbors as sweet as cotton candy.
And over the next three years, they would talk about Bruno as though he were the head of the family.
Rihanna, Fergie, Polly, Mandarin, Shirley, Chester, Dorian … it was like the cats of Suite I had heard the sorry tale of Bruno’s Coney Island exile, and determined to restore the years that loneliness had stolen.
For every harsh hiss that had ever flattened his ears and sent him slinking off alone, they would kiss him five times.
What did blind Polly or glamorous Rihanna see in Bruno? Not “the most homeless-looking cat in Tabby’s Place history,” although he did earn that distinction. Not a near-toothless vagabond who couldn’t even convince his own tongue to stay inside his mouth. Not even “the new guy.”
They saw their guy.
The FIV+ cats of Tabby’s Place saw Bruno’s worth, and they insisted that he do the same.
Meantime, we did not insist that Bruno let us cradle him like a meatball sub. Love spoke softly, in squeeze treats and dryer-warm blankets. Staff sang his name and cleaned his messes. Every living creature handled him with care, as though the scarry and scabby old survivor was a delicate heirloom.
Bewildered by all this kindness, Bruno stumbled upon his own bravery. He ventured out into his solarium and his self-respect. The sunrise sang his name.
One little striped sunbeam, Shirley, was especially sweet on Bruno. The tiny tabby was in her final chapter, but she and Bruno didn’t talk about that. They talked about Shirley’s kittens, healthy and strong because she gave her all. They talked about the roses fat as raviolis outside their sunroom window.
They talked about how much fun it was to hide under each other when humans entered the room, becoming the mighty two-headed ShBruno. They talked about us quite a bit, although most of what they said is not printable here.
We talked about Bruno being one of the greatest cats who ever lived.
We don’t talk about how this happens, because words can’t bear the weight. But in the quiet alchemy of time and togetherness, a cat we cannot touch becomes a soul-friend we cannot remember living without. Bruno had a place of honor, no less than the cuddlers and cool cats. Caring for him day by day, we sat in the same circle of belonging, where “feral” and “friendly;” “advanced needs” and “normal;” “us” and “them,” dissolve into family.
We did not want to talk about goodbye.
But family takes care of family long after the carnival closes.
Never in rippling good health, Bruno took a sharp curve for the worse earlier this year. A long-present lung mass progressed, until anemia, dehydration, and tumbling white blood cells and platelets left him unable even to delight in his meals. Love’s path was all too clear. As gently as possible, in the suite he loved, Bruno quietly left this world.
Yet, as we wept, someone was galloping down heaven’s boardwalk.
Breathless with joy, she could hardly wait to welcome Bruno.
Their parting had been painful, but now he would join her in the place where no one is rejected, and sorrow has nothing more to say.
Together again, together forever, Shirley and Bruno beam down upon us all.
Until we meet again, beloved ones, thank you for belonging to us and letting us belong to you.
We will talk about Bruno as long as we have breath, for his place in this family is everlasting.
Reflections from a few of Bruno’s adorers:
“Bruno didn’t like humans much, but it seemed like he enjoyed the companionship of his suite friends. At the end of the day before heading home, it warmed my heart to see him come out into the room to be with his friends – especially in the solarium if it was warm outside. He was safe and had food, water, shelter, medical care, and fresh air. Most importantly, he was not alone and he knew he was loved. He showed me this through his slow blinks.” – Allison
“I remember when he stopped eating a while ago and I would try to give him a squeeze-up. He wouldn’t take it, but then I cautiously put it on my fingers, and he ate it! Not every day, but I would do that as a treat for him … and me. I’m not sure if he accepted me, but he enjoyed the squeeze-ups. I miss him, but knowing he can run free, I am happy.” – Ginny
“Bruno was one of my favorites (even though I wasn’t one if his favorites). I would bring him chicken, and he would do his usual hiss as I approached, then look somewhat grateful when he realized I was giving him chicken. He always make me smile during these interactions.” – Karina
“Bruno was such a handsome, sweet looking boy. I never held him, nor would he let me pet him, so I adored him from afar. I would always hide his medicine in baby food and watch him enjoy every bite. I’ll miss him. Every jar of baby food I see will always remind me of him. Rest easy, Bruno.” – Kimmarie
“Bruno had a sweet gentle side that most people didn’t see. There were special occasions when I was able to get a pet in after giving him all different types of wonderful treats. I always said that he was our most homeless looking cat who we gave a home. I hope he’s with his friend Mr. Rat.” – Tiff