The taro plant is a tuber, like a sweet potato or a yam.
But there is a reason your Mee-maw never made a taro casserole with melty marshmallows.
The Taro cat would not abide it.
Appearances notwithstanding, Taro is not a marshmallow. Taro thinks marshmallows are a waste of gelatin, which would be better devoted to elk flan. Taro knows I am about to make a joke about how Elk Flan would be a great name for a band. Taro is not amused.
It is not that Taro is surly. Taro is gnarly. Taro is as gnarly as a root. But don’t picture any old carrot. We’re not even talking about that cool carrot you once found in your garden, the one that looked like it had dancing legs.
Taro is as gnarly as the root that keeps the tree of life from toppling in the wind.
Taro is pretty sure she is the sole force keeping all of us dandelions and dunces from toppling in the wind. Taro is completely sure she is the only responsible adult in the room we call “Earth.”
Now you understand why Taro gets a little exasperated with marshmallows.
Don’t get her wrong. Taro is pro-casserole. She accepts that life ladles out ingredients, and it’s up to us to season them to taste. She has persevered through the unpalatable.
If ever Taro was a marshmallow, that ended in the pressure cooker of Beirut. It is not always safe to be gooey. There is a time to be sweet, and a time to be salty, so you don’t cry.
Taro didn’t cry. But somebody cried for her. And the brave cat, who was once the size of a Rice Krispie Treat, survived on the strength of those tears.
The angels of Animals Lebanon have the grit it takes to stay soft. You can only keep loving if you are strong as a cedar. But steel yourself against sorrow, and the wind will snap you like a pretzel rod. Your roots must go deep enough to find the salt water of tears, and then deeper still.
The sweet, stubborn root of Taro was plucked from peril. She came to Tabby’s Place, where she is still trying to tell us she is one tough tuber. This is how she earned a yam-orange collar. Taro’s necklace informs potential huggers and kissers that her teeth are equipped for more than Mallomars.
Our Behavior Team reminds Taro that she is our favorite everything, our alabaster icon. Everyone at Taro’s table assures her that she is no side dish, no high-carb afterthought, but the main event, the hundred-carat diamond, the hostess of the feast.
Also, twice as gnarly as the entire cast of Point Break.
Taro is taking it all in. 
She can’t deny that we’re a goopy bunch of green beans around here. But she kinda loves that about us. She actually kinda loves us with the heat of ten billion everlasting suns. She actually wrote a sonnet about how much she loves us, and Tabby’s Place, and this whole sweet situation, but —
— but I’m not supposed to know about it, so let’s just keep that one under the casserole lid, OK?