She scaled great heights to take us all in.
He gave the best he had, and ended up with more.
We will not meet the likes of Selena and Allen again.
They never met in life. But if heaven has a front porch, Allen and Selena trotted up the steps at the same time. Neither had “trotted” in quite some time.
I think Tabby’s Place cats would know each other anywhere. There is a double-take, then the laugh of recognition. “Look at you. You’re all loved-up. I know where you’ve been. What year did you graduate?”
Down here, we’re left holding their fleece blankets, still warm to the touch.
We did not expect Selena to ascend so soon. We are giddy children when we meet a new best friend, prone to forget details like age. The record said Selena was eighteen on arrival. But a record is nothing but a piece of paper, and paper is meant to be folded into airplanes.
Selena was not at the upper limit of the feline lifespan. Selena was spectacular years old.
Her pecan-pie markings were dainty and distinctive, but Selena’s beauty was not found in her form. Like the moon who shared her name, Selena looked like pure light. This is what happens when you have stared directly into love. It fills your craters and gives you its own face, until you shine in the dark.
Selena was already loved-up when we met her, the moon-child of a woman who had also reached spectacular years of age. When her mom entered assisted living, Selena brought her light to Tabby’s Place. Selena knew the signs of warm hearts and kind eyes. And since she knew she only had so much time to take it all in, Selena climbed.
The other Community Room cats would bimble about with beds and practice Pilates on the conference table. But Selena could be found, at all times, just a whisker below the moon.
Regal at the top of a cat tower, she welcomed snacks and chin-rubs from below. She gazed out over the realm and approved acts of affection, flowing from cats to humans and back. She loved from aloft.
She was so loved-up, she did not need to clamor for a place at the table. Let the groundlings and goofballs gobble up the airspace. Selena shone in her fullness, utterly secure.
If you drew a picture of the Community Room, Selena on her cat tower would be exactly where you would place the moon.
It seemed she would shine forever, a well-loved elder beaming peace to all who entered. To paraphrase George Burns, once you have reached eighteen, you’ve got it made, because very few cats die after age eighteen.
But no one on Earth can stay “spectacular years old” forever. There is a higher height, where all the words and worries fall silent.
The most serene senior did not suffer. Selena’s mouth cancer came on quickly, and by the time she made her pain known, love’s choice was clear. She made her final ascent from the center of a circle, ringed with staff and volunteers.

Perhaps we will all look a little like her from our time spent in her light. She is still shining over us, moon-child and grandma-cat all at once. At last, she sees love face-to-face.
She sees Allen, too, the stranger who must be strangely familiar. No sooner had we lost Selena, than our staff found Allen sleeping too deeply. There had been no signs or symptoms, no slow descent. All we knew was that our tears could not rouse him, for he was waking on a better shore.
Unlike Selena, Allen had not been loved-up when we first met. The well-dressed curmudgeon with the cloudy eye was “just a stray.” Shining faces were scarce. Allen had never heard that he was spectacular years old. Allen had never experienced the mystic ecstasy of a chicken cookie.
But Allen was a genius, a gentleman, and a fast learner.
Allen was also fuller than he appeared.
Like one votive in a quiet cathedral, Allen gave light from floor to ceiling. He preferred the latter, setting up shop on the upper reaches of his ramp. There, between the solarium tube and the drop-ceiling, Allen changed the world.
If that sounds dramatic, we have witnesses. Drawn to his nervous North Star, cats from Juel to Olivia became smitten satellites. They told the others. They told Allen about treats and chin skritches. They held up flashlights so Allen could conduct experiments in the dark.
He let us touch him. He let himself feel warm. He let all the cats know that it does not take long to get loved-up, if you are brave.
Soon, Allen took his light show on the road, or at least to the solarium. Magda tipped him off that there are heating pads out there, and Allen was curious and concerned. A “heating pad” sounded glorious. But heating pads seemed excessive. If there is more than one heating pad, cats can spread out. They may not even need to be touching at all times. This is a terrible shame.
Allen issued a decree for all his satellites. “We shall proceed as though there is just one heating pad. Love’s favorite word is ‘ours.'”
He could have kept all the warmth to himself. Instead, he gave it to everyone.
And sure enough, everyone became Allen’s someone.
Friendships waxed fat and full. One candle did not turn dim from lighting another. Sunrise to sunset, Allen’s orbit blazed with love, and cats.
The inaugural members of the Heating Pad Club are grieving with us today, stumbling on the floor in search of their friend. Each one remains warm to the touch. Their faces look a little different in the right light, ever so slightly incandescent. They have been changed. They would recognize each other anywhere.
Someday, we will all recognize each other, in that light where no face is forgotten.
Until that day, it is our quest to keep lifting each other up until everyone is loved-up.
May you shine through us, Selena and Allen. The love we share is spectacular. The love we share will never end.
“The love we share will never end” Thank you for this beautiful tribute to Selena and Allen. Tabby’s place cats forever.