At the risk of making this the Maury Show of blogs, today we’re going to dish some dirt.
Never let it be said that Felis Catus is afraid to deal with the mucky, ooky, messy stuff of life with cats.
But first, a philosophical question: how much muck is too much muck? (Regardless of what any cat or woodchuck might chuck.) At Tabby’s Place, we have a standard answer: infinite muck isn’t too much muck, if it’s the price we have to pay to love a cat. And, as Hootz will attest, sometimes “muck” is precisely what’s written on the price tag.
One of our recent arrivals reaffirmed this philosophy. We knew within 14 seconds of meeting Ginkgo that life with him would be 99.9999999% love and glory…and 0.00000001%, um, cleaning muck.
It’s hard to fully capture Ginkgo’s grandeur in mere words and photos. Gingko is the kind of cat who walks around with gleaming golden rays of goodness beaming off him. When I say his name, picture it pronounced in that epically-glorious, deeply-important tone – maybe a combination of Aslan’s voice in the Narnia movies and the voiceover in the Joseph A. Bank commercials. Ginkgooooo A. Rosenberg. (Technically, every single cat at Tabby’s Place has the last name “Rosenberg.” But that’s a story for another time.)
After meeting – and dutifully handing my heart over to – Ginkgo, I tried my durndest to describe him to a volunteer. As with a pegasus or gryphon or any mythological being, Ginkgo defies easy classification.
“Well, he’s kind of like the nicest cat you ever met, times forty,” I offered. “He looks like a Maine Coon, but somehow even more magnificent. He talks, constantly. And he adores you from the minute you walk into the room. Really adores you – as in, would give you a kidney or his last ticket to the Meat Loaf concert.” I paused. “Um. And he, well, leaks poo.”
If not for that, Ginkgo would never have made it out of Quarantine without twenty-seven forever homes lined up and waiting for him. That is going to make finding Casa Ginkgo…tricky.
It’s not even Ginkgo’s fault. I mean, if you or I didn’t have a colon, we’d be a little mucky ourselves. Sometime in ancient Ginkgo history, our boy apparently had megacolon, with the associated agony of nightmare constipation. (Toldja we were going to dish the dirt.) Along his journey to Tabby’s Place, Ginkgo was blessed to have heroes who made it possible for him to have a subtotal colectomy, which left him with (a) no colon (b) vastly improved health and comfort and (c) the unfortunate habit of sometimes leaking poo. Ginkgo makes the best of it (and everything else, for that matter). He’s not miffed by muck, and we’ve never been ones to let a little ickypoo get in the way of our affections. This is Tabby’s Place – cats let it all (all) hang out, and they’re loved no less. So it always has been, always will be.
So Ginkgo’s not ordinary – we knew that. It all just mandates that his forever family must be extraordinary, supernatural and uber-spectacular. Not to much to ask for a cat of this caliber. Nothing would be too much to ask for the love juggernaut that is Ginkgoooooo A. Rosenberg.
In the meantime, His Majesty is happy to wait it out at Tabby’s Place, and we’re happy delighted thrilled elated to the point of glee to have Ginkgo here and to love him madly. The minor issue of muck is minor indeed in the face of loving Ginkgo. Now we merely await the family who sees Ginkgo for the treasure he is, and knows he belongs in their own garden. Ginkgo’s namesake may be a highly unusual non-flowering plant, but our boy has blooms and bounty for miles. OK, and a modicum of muck. But who doesn’t? 😉