Not every cat is big enough to carry the name “Moo Moo.”

But for two years, we were graced with a giant.

Moo Moo received her name for the obvious reasons. Built like a feline bovine, she was a cat of great size.

Her ponderous eyes only added to the effect. Soulful and earnest, she appeared to be “chewing the cud” of her day, ruminating on the meaning of life.

But Moo Moo’s pillowy belly and jelly jowls were the least of her largeness. To understand Moo Moo, you must consider her largesse.

This was on display the day she arrived. It was May 2023, the time of year when baby calves find their feet in the meadow, and everyone secretly hopes they can begin again.

Having lost her person and her home, elderly Moo Moo was pensive. She buried her face in our staff’s arms, as though she were asking for a few more hours of winter hibernation, and a return to what once was.

But there is no stopping spring’s changes. And when you are as big as Moo Moo, there is no hiding your heart, even when it is broken.

Fear was too small for Moo Moo, and her spirit spilled over the sides. She lifted her head. She nuzzled new faces. And in short order, she comforted her comforters.

She gave us the look that would become her signature: Will you love me? Can you stay? Do you know how big I am?

It takes time to grow into a garment as big as trust. We started Moo Moo out in one of our Suites, but that was a world too small. She was a philosopher-cow among braggadocious roosters and shrieking piglets. (This is no offense to Moo Moo’s neighbors, who would appreciate those comparisons.)

In such a boisterous barnyard, Moo Moo could hardly accomplish her mission. To make matters worse, the stress was a risk to her health.

Although she never complained, Moo Moo carried her own burdens. A growth on her nose was a slow-growing form of cancer, and asthma thundered her lungs. Steroids could keep both at bay, but Moo Moo needed a peaceful environment.

She needed a meadow with no fences. She needed space to contemplate and to thank sunbeams for being. She needed to free-feed on affection (and kibble).

She needed the Lobby.

More importantly, the Lobby needed Moo Moo.

With plenty of room to ignore cats and ponder the existence of treats, Moo Moo was a calf loosed from her stall. It would not be quite accurate to say that she “frolicked,” but there was springtime in her step.

Besides, a cat of such splendor should not be expected to gallop. Moo Moo sashayed. She promenaded.

And she nurtured small creatures as her very own.

Kittens? Goodness, no. Moo Moo’s mission was for little ones in bigger bodies, hiding in plain sight. With those thoughtful eyes, Moo Moo saw full-grown humans’ actual size.

She saw the middle-aged child lonely for someone to stay.

She saw the knobby-kneed lamb inside every pillar of strength.

She saw the baby face beneath the wrinkles, the part of every person that wishes someone would take them out for a milkshake and ask about their day.

And she loved us all anyway.

Other cats were more effusive. Peabody would hurdle into your lap like a pony, and Bello would blanket you like some sort of gelatinous yak.

But Moo Moo was large enough to listen for who needed quiet company. The faint scent of sentiment or melancholy summoned her like a bell. If you sat down with too much on your mind, Moo Moo would saunter to your side.

Before you even realized you were feeling small, Moo Moo lavished you with largesse. She stayed close, even if you forgot to bring treats. And sure as spring’s return, you returned to your full size.

(And then proceeded to go get treats. When love is large, everyone gets what they need.)

Moo Moo’s presence was so gigantic, we could not picture a world without her.

But the Lobby’s soft center faced a hard battle. Cardiac failure came on like a thief, and Moo Moo began fading before our eyes. Now we were the ones pleading, Will you stay? 

We rushed her to the emergency vet and were granted a reprieve. Moo Moo came home to the Lobby, resuming her robust schedule of meditation, plural breakfasts, and caring for small creatures like you and me.

We knew time was short. Each day was a gift. But we were larger than we were before, and it was all Moo Moo’s fault. She loved us so much, fences fell off our hearts. She loved us so much, we had room for more.

No one loved Moo Moo more than our Development Coordinator, Lisa. When Moo Moo’s honest, earnest eyes asked, will you stay?, Lisa said the ultimate “yes.” She welcomed Moo Moo home as a Forever Foster, where the grand cat’s final days could be her biggest and best.

Once again, Moo Moo rallied, towering over her grim prognosis. Lisa’s love enlarged the horizon as long as possible. And when the hour of parting arrived, Moo Moo left this world in Lisa’s adoring arms.

Today, we yearn to see those big, kind Moo Moo eyes one last time.

I believe she is still gazing back. She is too large to leave us, too great and good to forget our faces. She is asking the same questions, but they are bigger than ever: Can you love someone smaller than yourself? Will you stay with each other? Do you know how big you are?

She has left us with wide, open spaces in our hearts, and only one way to fill them.

Moo Moo, darling girl, we will take up your mission. We will keep our eyes open. We will love with largesse. We will meet again, where there are no fences.

Thanks to Moo Moo’s devoted foster parent, Lisa, for the photos of Moo Moo delighting in her loving home. Lisa shares the following:

“Moo Moo and I connected soon after her arrival. When she lived in one of our suites, I always spent extra time visiting with her, and when the opportunity for a move to the lobby came her way, I was her biggest champion. Moo Moo blossomed in the lobby both in size and in spunk. She led the great treat theft in the stationary closet, she helped with daily medical rounds, and she kept things orderly at our reception desk.

Upon coming home, Moo Moo settled right into her new studio apartment (my home office and spare bedroom). She had a soft twin bed, a lounge chair, a perch by the heating vent, and a desk with her very own cozy work bed.

We shared many hours together during her short time with my family. Moo Moo ate breakfast (and lunch and dinner) in bed everyday. She followed all her medications and meals with a squeeze treat. She supervised all of my Tabby’s Place responsibilities and attended Zoom meetings.

Before Moo Moo came home, she was refusing to eat. That changed pretty quickly and in her first week at home she gained more than a full pound. She was blossoming again. She was happy, she was content, and she had a full belly at all times. She knew she was loved, and she knew that I would listened when she shared that she was tired. That day came sooner than I expected.

Our time at home together was brief, but it was filled with love. Thank you, Moo, for letting me shower you with love.”

More Blog Posts