Checkers would never tell you this himself.

But with tears in our eyes and white fur on our jeans, we need the world to know.

Checkers was a king.

If this comes as a surprise, then Checkers succeeded. Yet make no mistake: the quiet heart of Quinn’s Corner was full royalty.

Few cats are shy about being spectacular. Checkers’ own roommates competed constantly to be the greatest. While Abacus and Trifecta threw each other down, Checkers chose higher ground. He’d have been content to stay up there in his cubby, round face like the moon behind the mist. Let the swaggering cats believe they were the sun.

But things turned a tad too “Game of Thrones” for our liking, and Checkers was unwilling to return fire for fire. Abacus did not mean harm, but he did not want to play Scrabble, or Chess, or Let Us Sit Quietly And Ponder The Mysteries Together. Abacus wanted to play Battleship, and Crossfire, and I Am A Dothraki Warrior.

This was not exactly excellent for Checkers’ well-being. (Let the record show that Trifecta was entirely innocent in all of this, and indeed one of Checkers’ fond admirers.)

So if he would not stand up to Abacus, he would touch down in a gentler realm. Two doors down, Checkers found his kingdom.

If you ever struggled to feel settled in middle school, someone may have assured you, “you will find your people.” And maybe you had to wait until high school, or the nursing home, but you found them, or more likely they found you. This is just what happened to Checkers.

Of course, we the people were Checkers’ people ever since the day he came to us from Connecticut. But when you are full royalty, one species cannot contain all your love. When your head is a giant orb of innocence, you believe that peace may prevail.

When nobody knows that you are a king, everybody feels great in your eyes.

Checkers’ love landed safely in Suite H. He may have been the quiet heart of Quinn’s Corner, but his message got through. His sweetness was here to serve. His speeches were all about his friends’ best qualities. Every cat sat a little taller in his presence. Every person felt like a precious person in his glow.

Puff proclaimed him “handsomer than Batman.” Batty beamed in Checkers’ moonlight. Hoopla Green blinked, and meant it. Regina rejoiced. Mr. Man licked Checkers’ forehead, which is the feline equivalent of a coronation. But Checkers didn’t even tell them that he is a king.

He was too busy telling everyone that he was happiness.

He was not merely happy, for happy is a game of chance. Happy is subject to the dice roll and the jet stream. Happy is a paper crown that blows away if your neighbor clobbers you, or someone yells “checkmate,” or there is a nationwide recall on Quarter Pounders. Happy cannot handle being “double positive,” infected with both FIV and FeLV.

Happy is weak, but the king was strong. Happy is a game, but Checkers was happiness itself.

It turned out the quiet heart of Quinn’s Corner had a great deal to say. Out of the cubby, under the sun, Checkers taught new games. They will not tell you this in history class, but every good king frolics. And though none knew his true identity, Checkers ruled a community of kindness, where the king’s road led back and forth between cats and people. He served everyone his sweetness, great and small. His only crown was the sun of the skylight on his little-boy bangs. In his sight, Suite H was a fairytale town with cobblestone streets and daily double rainbows. Everyone played professional kindness.

Fearful no more, Checkers lived inside the gentle dream he always knew would come true.

He was both happiness and greatness.

He was supposed to have years, and years, and years to enjoy it all. But we do not get to rule over time.

You know the annals of heartbreak all too well. There was the mysterious weight loss, the poor appetite. There were no answers, until there was the answer nobody wanted. Checkers had lymphoma, and the hour was late. The cat who gave everyone a glimpse of their own greatness did not ask anything in return, only that we be gentle. We would honor him by skipping harsh heroics. Steroids and fluids would bring comfort, and Checkers would get to stay in his kingdom.

To the very end, Checkers kept up his royal responsibilities. Even when he grew too weary to play, he pursued people of two species with his eyes. “Hey. Excuse me. Has anyone told you yet today that you are wonderful? Well, it’s true. You are wonderful. You are lovable. You are my happiness.”

I can only hope he knew that he was ours, too.

Checkers never said the words from the game that bears his name: “king me.” He didn’t have to. He was full royalty from the day of his birth. He will reign in our hearts until we are all together on the cobblestone streets. On that day, even Abacus will understand.

Send us your light, gentle king.

Reflections from some of Checkers’ angels on the Tabby’s Place staff:

“Checkers was a cat that I kept highly ranked on my ‘Gram Cat’ list, which is my mental log of cats that I intended on convincing my Gramie to adopt once she’s ready to take home a cat. He was consistently number 1 on the list. When he came to us, he was terrified and disconnected. I know that everyone who worked with him marveled at how far he came. He transformed (as we knew he would) into a social butterfly of a cat. The first morning that he finally accepted me as a friend and rubbed his body through my feet, I literally froze in shock. I tried really hard to ‘be cool about it,’ but inside I wanted to jump like an excited little kid. There was no question in my mind that this is the cat he was, and that he wanted to show us, but was too afraid to. It was a joy loving you, Checkers, and we were so lucky to share the rest of your life with you.” – Tiana

“Checkers was a sweet soul tucked behind a gruff exterior. I remember the first time I saw him playing with one of the ball track toys in the solarium, he looked like a kitten running around and wildly rolling the balls. He looked so embarrassed when he noticed me watching him. He loved his solarium, hanging out in the Quinn’s Corner lobby, and rolling like mad in catnip. He was also a graduate of the ‘Befriending Fearful Felines,’ program, and I know he really touched the hearts of all the volunteers that worked with him. Checkers was a really special guy. He definitely will be greatly missed in Quinn’s Corner.” – Grace

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