How could we believe Cora was frail, when she loved from strength to strength?

How do you prepare your heart for things your head always knew?

How do you say “goodbye,” when every “hello” was a gift?

Everything about Cora was unexpected, so why not expect her to live forever?

We were only following her lead.

If Cora knew that her former family no longer wanted to be her family, she did not let on. Yes, there was a final click of the door when her people left. They weighed Cora’s tender heart against her towering medical issues, and they came up short. In a world as knotty as ours, this is not unexpected.

But Cora saved her strength for surprises.

Why focus on the “family-no-more” when she could turn her amber eyes to the “family-just-begun?” There was a valiant veterinary technician who saved her, combing her tangles to regal silk. There was the discovery of diabetes. You might expect that to be bad news, but when it can be treated, even a diagnosis can be part of your family.

And then there was Tabby’s Place, an amphitheater of the unexpected and the unconditional.

When Cora arrived, it was all we could do to stay upright. One after the next, staff members nearly fell to their knees at the sight of her. She was not a fading elder with formidable needs. She was a purring masterpiece of strength and dignity. She had eyes the color of caramel and a heart wide open.

You might expect Cora to be cautious after so much loss. But Cora expected the best, and she was not disappointed.

We, on the other hand, were swiftly disappointed. No sooner had we surrendered our hearts to our gracious lady, than we received news of an impending “goodbye.” In addition to a particularly stubborn case of diabetes, Cora had late-stage kidney disease. Time was short. We were already running out of mornings with those maple-syrup eyes.

Our tears flowed. Cora’s did not.

How could she feel sorry for herself, when she had just received a Lobby of her own? With apologies to Hips, Prescott, and Jonathan, it was Cora, the “dying” cat, who held the deed to the Tabby’s Place Lobby. This is in the bylaws of the angels. They own a giant shredder just for expectations. When a cat is running out of days, she is the rightful queen of hours.

This entitled Cora to the entire heart of the entire staff, starting with Receptionist Sharon. If you have ever called or meandered into Tabby’s Place, you have encountered an extraordinary woman who keeps us all coordinated, calm (relatively speaking) and full of good cheer. Our only explanation is that Sharon is 49% feline. Sharing a desk with Cora, Sharon became 100% smitten, and that river flowed both ways.

Cora’s rivers regularly overflowed. If you were a nervous new volunteer, her kind eyes smiled up at you, spilling light. If you just got some bad news and needed to sit down, Cora would come keep vigil by your side, spilling the secret that you were not alone. If you were passing through the Lobby, hurrying somewhere more important, Cora would still gaze up at you like you were the sunrise.

When you are not expected to be here very long, you are free to love without a mask. What’s the worst that can happen? Your love may be returned to sender. But within that bony and beleaguered body, Cora was strong. Contrary to all expectations, love is never returned void. She adored us — the widest possible “us” — as though she believed every slow blink is worth it, no matter what happens.

Cora must have felt dreadful at times. Our vet team is second to none, and every “impossible” day that Cora survived is a testament to their brilliance and devotion. Yet Cora’s brittle diabetes betrayed all the rules. Her blood glucose vaulted over the meteors, no matter how meticulous our protocol. Her kidneys cackled, reminding our heads what our hearts had forgotten.

Yet for a creature as creative as Cora, self-pity is too obvious, too expected. Far better to shrug off her body’s buffoonery by focusing on other buffoons.

Cora loved all, but she suffered no fools. When Hips attempted to turn the Lobby into a honky-tonk hurdy-gurdy hootenanny fit for hooligans, the gracious lady spoke her mind. Elegant smacks and disapproving looks were administered.

Cora didn’t expect to get through to Hips. Cora didn’t get through to Hips. There are a few things in this life that are actually impossible.

But the survival of a “doomed” cat is not one of them. Winter, spring, summer, and fall were warm in the glow of those amber eyes. Cora supervised arrivals and departures. She discovered a “ripple rug” and played with five hundred plastic slinky springs. She survived fire drills, Sharon’s vacation days, and the many colorful statements of Olive, which cannot be reprinted on this blog.

Cora survived. We started to expect that Cora would just keep surviving.

It’s not that we took her for granted. At Tabby’s Place, we live so close to the veil between life and death, you can always see your own breath in the air. We do not have the luxury of dreaming our best friends are immortal. Every “good morning, Cora!” was a bonus, like one last gift found under the tree in January.

But when a cat keeps outliving expectations, it can feel like this one will be different. Cora wasn’t supposed to last six months, so why not make it six years? Cora lost one family, so why shouldn’t she have heaps of time with her family-just-begun?

We can’t live without Cora, so why do we have to?

In the end, as in every bonus beginning, Cora spoke clearly. With grace and dignity, her eyes glimpsed a distant light. Her kidneys had given their all. She left this world in a circle of devotion. The unwanted, surrendered, impossible cat was now the heart of a family that never ends.

Cora will have many “hellos” just beyond our sight, cats and people who are now family-just-begun. I believe her sweet gaze is on us still, supervising Sharon, sending helpful hints to Hips, showering us all with comfort when we least expect it.

Until we meet again, Queen Cora, thank you for defying expectations. Grant us your bravery to do the same.

Words of love from just a few of Cora’s adorers:

Grace, Staff: “I loved Cora so much from the moment she came to us. She got her name from Downton Abbey. As soon as I saw her, I knew she had to be Cora, after the mother of the main family, because of her air of royalty and demure face (plus how she would always sit pretty, with her little front feet crossed). She was always special to me. I cant tell you exactly what it was, but she left a fluffy paw print on my heart. The Lobby certainly won’t be the same without her. Whether it’s the empty spot next to her beloved fountain where she would stand guard, or the bed in the corner of the desk where she would cover reception duties while Sharon was off getting her special snacks and treats. She had all of us wrapped around her fuzzy finger. I’m really going to miss that feisty lady. Run free, Cora.”

Kitty LeFey, Volunteer & Blogger: “Cora. Cora-bagora. Fellow receptionist. Feline. Friend. Cora was many things, among the best being a magnet for small children. They loved her and were always so gentle with her, often without even needing to be told. No matter the state of her fur (often questionable and requiring a close cut behind her upper torso), Cora led the daily dance in gorgeous finery. Resting in her favorite spots sometimes made cleaning a challenge, but it was always a joy to work around her. Any excuse to talk to Cora, scritch Cora, coo to Cora made every kind of day the best kind of day. Re-offering her the same food dish repeatedly and getting her to eat just a little more each time was delightfully absurd. It was all about Cora playing to the crowd. It’s what she always did in her quiet, charming way. The deafening silence brought by her absence is going to echo throughout the lobby. Cora was, is, and will always be our grand dame, and I will miss her dearly now that she has taken her final, graceful bow.”

Tiana, Staff: “Even in her last moments, she was truly regal.”

Tiff, Staff: “I loved that, whenever it was time for food or treats, she patiently sat and waited from wherever she was, staring at you and waiting for you to bring the goods to her. She was always so tolerant for her fluids, even though she clearly did not enjoy it. She was a perfect little princess, with her crossed paws like a little lady. I will miss her so much, and the Lobby is definitely not the same. RIP, beautiful Cora.”

And the final word belongs to Erika, Cora’s hero vet tech and rescuer (and Fury‘s adopter):

“At our clinic, Cora was a gem. Even at her sickest, she had this elegant way about her. She had an old soul with a very forgiving, kind nature. She always seemed like she had lived a hundred lives already, and I’d have to assume she’d been royalty in most of them. The day that I took her in, she settled right into her little cat apartment (my walk-in closet) as though she’d lived there her whole life. In her time at my house, she made wonderful friends with cats, dogs, and children alike. Because, how could anyone not love Cora? There is much to be said about a soul who’s been hurt but chooses to continue loving. She made that choice every day. Cora deserved her second chance, and she deserved Tabby’s Place. She deserved to be showered with all of the love she showed those around her so graciously before wearing her angel wings. The world will miss you, sweet girl.”

More Blog Posts