Beauty does not belong just to the bronzed and shimmering.

Beauty is not the perfect nose, or the cheek uncreased by smile lines.

Beauty is as beauty does.

Chester did “beautiful” with every follicle.

It would not be fair to say that “with every hair on his head.” That would ignore the patches of Chester that were as pink as a newborn and as bald as a grandpa.

In his stray days, those patches were part of the problem. A cat with plush stripes is easy on the eyes. Beauty begets a second look. If you look like a huggable housecat, people may have pity on you, and pity may lead to patience, and poultry.

Chester, however, looked like no other cat. Bald bubbles ran like cobblestone streets over his skin. His face was a topographical map of pain, crisscrossed by angry red scars that split and bled. We would understand if people recoiled in heartache, or fear.

But beauty is not “people.”

Beauty is one person at a time.

Chester’s rescuer was born with 20/20 vision of the spirit. Gazing from her heart, she did not see a ghoul or a tragedy. She saw a friend in need. She saw a cat, as magnificent as any other. She saw a fellow traveler who deserved a safe place to rest.

She knew what to do.

Beauty is as beauty does.

Beauty shows its bare face at Tabby’s Place. When Chester arrived, gasps filled the room. They were not the pangs of horror, but the opening lyrics of love.

Though he was too debilitated to lift his head, Chester bore a family resemblance. He was one of ours. He was a Tabby’s Place cat. He was beautiful all the way down to his molecules.

And thus began the beautiful year.

The vet team made sure we all knew what we were getting into. Specifically, we were getting into not knowing what we were getting into.

Chester’s disease was so mysterious and unprecedented, there were no guarantees. Trial, error, and a symposium of specialists would be necessary. Even then, we might not be able to relieve our stoic, stony boy’s suffering.

To top it off, Chester was not convinced that we were beautiful.

Shuddering in his shroud of pain, he shrank from our touch, violently slapping the hands that fed him. When our smitten staff coaxed food into his cage, Chester peered sideways, with a leery, jaded gaze. Engulfing his meal like a ravenous lone wolf, he could scarcely open his swollen eyes.

No one could see more than the next step on the path.

But uncertainty is not ugly in the mirror of love.

Love looked like one humble deed after another: feed Chester. Speak softly to Chester. Follow the painstaking protocol of medications, treatments, and (yes, our vet team is a squadron of saints) baths for Chester.

One pill, one dish of turkey, one warm towel at a time.

Beauty is as beauty does.

Our warrior began to feel his worth.

Downy hair sprouted like moss across Chester’s cheeks and chin. The gnarled pink fist of pain softened into a black-and-white cat. In furtive outlines, Chester showed his colors. He was FIV+. He had eyes, green as shamrocks and quick to smile.

He was infatuated with cats, from neon Mandarin to sandalwood Sage. He surged with pride when they groomed him, nuzzling the scar tissue just the same as the fur. Chester’s feline friends did not gingerly lick around the “scorched earth” where hair would never regrow. Blind to his baldness, they adored every inch of him.

Witnessing this was more awe-inspiring than a trip to the Louvre.

Yet Chester’s healing was not a watercolor fantasy. No pixie dust or filter blurred the “barnacles” that clung to his ears, or the wounds that still wrenched open without warning. He would rub himself all over our legs as though he was making an etching to remember us by, only to revert to slappy shyness for secret reasons.

In this age of artificial intelligence and sleights of hand, we sometimes don’t know what we’re looking at. Is that a real person on the internet, or pixels posing as a face? Can we trust our eyes to tell beauty apart from illusion?

There is only one giveaway.

Beauty is as beauty does.

In our year with Chester, every day was a gift. You live differently when you know that.

You become absurdly glad at the sight of a cat sleeping pain-free. You float off the ground all day because a craggy stray let you rub his neck, or purred while you wrapped him like a small Obi-Wan Kenobi in a towel. You dance a jig when shy shamrock eyes smile in your direction.

You do not take the gift for granted.

We knew Chester faced many medical battles. Recurring bouts of ringworm, a paper-thin immune system, and creeping liver disease hovered like a den of thieves.

Yet, no “head knowledge” of Chester’s frailty could close the eyes of hope. We were besotted with the “hopeless” cat, reborn. For twelve tender months, Chester was truly, fully alive.

For the rest of our lives, we will remember this beautiful year.

And, as tears streak our cheeks like rain-drenched streets, we will remember the lines and the loveliness of the bravest face in our family.

We will close our eyes and see those shamrocks shining under a crown of black-and-white peach fuzz. We will feel Chester rubbing our legs. We will ask him to help us look more like him.

Beauty is as beauty does.

Until we meet again, beloved boy.

Reflections from just a few of Chester’s devoted adorers at Tabby’s Place, starting with two videos with his adoring friend Allison:

“Chester changed when he went into Suite D. I’m sure it was probably just the meds working, but there’s a special magic in that room, and we’ve seen it before. In Suite D, he allowed people in, and for whatever reason, he accepted me. I think he liked to be spoken to. When I walked into the room, I’d tell him ‘hi’ and start talking to him. He’d raise his head, look at me, and get up from his bed to come to see me. He loved contact. He’d rub his head in my hands even when he had no fur, and I wasn’t sure how to touch him. He showed me what felt good and what he needed, and I followed his lead. And, those emerald green eyes!!! Who knew! What an honor to see those eyes! The vet team and staff did exceptional work with and for Chester. Others would have just let him go, but you all said ‘no.’ Thank you for advocating for him. Because of you, Chester knew love, friendship, and good food, and we had the privilege of knowing Chester. I am so grateful.” – Allison

“When he first came in, we couldn’t tell if he’d even make it. I remember the vet meeting when we first discussed him, and we considered euthanasia if we couldn’t get his skin any better, because it wasn’t fair for him to suffer like that. And then, we got him on the right meds, and his skin started to heal, and his fur started to grow, and his beautiful green eyes opened up, and his personality appeared. He wasn’t quite feral, but he had opinions and he’d let you know. He LOVED food and got very slappy if you tried to take it away, or move it, or adjust the blanket near him. He also would slap you just for looking at him a certain way. He’d make a sad squeak when we had to towel him for meds, because he knew he could not slap. He knew he was temporarily defeated.

“And then he’d get cookies and a squeeze up as a reward and perk right back up. Once we got him into Suite D, that’s when we learned under all the slaps and glares, there was a sweet, gentle boy. He did a lot of lounging, but if you approached and offered an olive branch of cookies or gentle pets, he’d come right out and start circling you, rubbing up against your legs, and keeping you pleasant company. I will forever cherish my last moments with him. I sat on the floor with him and let him circle me and rub against me, offering good butt scratches and all the cheek scritches he could handle. He even chatted with me, which I’d never heard before. He made the cutest little squeaks and chirps, delighted to spend time together, just hanging out. Although his life was rough and painful, I think the friends he made, feline and human, and the spa days, and the sheer number of cookies, squeeze -ups, and huge plates of food, made his stay with us more than worthwhile.” – Claudia M.

“There are no words to describe how special and handsome Chester was. I genuinely loved and adored seeing him every day I was in. I’m sad I didn’t know him sooner, but enjoyed every moment I did have with him, even if it was him trying to slap me every time. Will forever remember him and cherish him in my heart.” – Juliet T.

“I met Chester for the first time in Hospital when I first came to Tabby’s Place. His condition was like no other I’ve seen. The more I spent time with him, the more he stole my heart. Chester was as unique as his condition. I’ll miss him dearly. RIP handsome boy.” – Kimmarie S.

“Nicest tough guy cat I’ve known. Dude was a trooper.” – Mario L.

“Chester was one of our most unique Tabby’s cats with even more mysterious issues. He went through so much and was so loved by everyone even when he wanted to smack us. He held on for so long until his poor body couldn’t handle anymore. I will forever be reminded of him because with the ringworm scar on my lip after kissing him.” – Tiff K.

More Blog Posts