Since 1911, International Women’s Day has been “a global day celebrating the social, economic, cultural, and political achievements of women.”

Tabby’s Place thrives on the brilliance, bravery, empathy, and energy of a legendary league of women. Our volunteers, staff, and donors are humble heroes. They tilt the arc of the universe towards love, on an hourly basis.

But the celebration is incomplete without our favorite feline women.

Let us honor the pillars of society who stand nine inches tall.

We honor Olive, whose contributions in the fields of Sociology and Death Metal are without parallel. Olive has devoted her career to convincing visitors they are the light of the world, or at least the Lobby, which is probably the same thing.

On your first, second, and third visit, Olive will give homage appropriate to a visiting dignitary, such as the Queen of Denmark, or Guy Fieri.

But once you have established yourself as a regular, Olive will call you nicknames that cannot be printed in this blog. She may bite you. She will not apologize. She will do it all because you are now her real friend, and real friendship means it is real safe to be real strange.

We honor Pepita (pictured in top banner), whose name is no accident. She is as humble as a pumpkin seed, bereft of bravado. She lets other cats go first. She is not afraid to be meek.

She waits for you in her solarium, where every sunbeam arrives on time. She illuminates the instant you appear. Oh, there you are! She plants herself in your heart, whether you are kind or crusty, soft or stubborn. Before you know it, the little pumpkin seed has grown a thousand times in size. Once you are Pepita’s friend, you have a strong, sheltering tree. You can visit anytime.

We honor Grecca, our Nobel laureate of Noise. Grecca hollers because breakfasts (plural) exist, but they are not all simultaneously present.

Grecca hollers because Mongolia is far away, and its citizens deserve to hear her just as much as the populace of New Jersey. Grecca hollers because she exists, and nothing could be more astonishing. Grecca hollers because she is giving orders to our guardian angels. Grecca hollers because she cares.

We honor Fergie, the international superstar who could be playing to sold-out audiences. Instead, she is here, because we need her.

We need the nutmeg nugget with 1.5 ears, wobbling all wonder-struck in the waltz of the delighted. We need her to lead by example, scaling scratchers like cardboard Everests.

When Fergie stands tall, nobody can slouch or slump. Her hazel eyes hunt down the good in every living goofus, which should cover all of us.

We honor Prescott, who is the actual inspiration for every sonnet ever written. On chemical analysis, Prescott is composed of exclusively grace, dignity, and knock-knock jokes.

She has never done anything wrong in her life, so kindly disregard the “Wanted” poster on the hallway door. She sprints down the hallway because (a) she is alive, something she will never forget, and (b) we are alive, but we forget constantly. Run after Prescott, and you may catch up with your own starlight. Run out of breath laughing, and you may catch yourself writing sonnets without trying.

We honor Regina George, the kind girl named for a Mean Girl. She is paraplegic but in perpetual motion. She is infected with FeLV and enthusiasm.

She is the first cat to have her own fashion house. Tabby’s Place volunteers craft Regina’s “scoot skirts.” Supposedly, they are intended to protect Regina’s knees from abrasions, but the real purpose is to elevate Tabby’s Place to the level of Paris and Milan.

With apologies to Prada and Dior, Les Scoot Skirts are the pinnacle of modern style. Proof: 100% of her designers are so committed to Regina George’s vision, they refuse payment other than kisses from Regina George.

We honor Patches, whose vision only appears “normal.” Patches is so beautiful, Renoir put down his paints. Patches is so gentle, she makes newborn lambs look like warlords. Patches is your grandmother, the Pioneer Woman, and Dolly Parton combined.

Patches is incapable of removing her rose-colored glasses. Patches is certain you are a sweetheart, whether you are a muskrat or an actual Mean Girl. You may show Patches evidence that you are the creepiest curmudgeon who ever scowled the Earth. You may frighten pigeons and make Santa Claus cry.

Patches does not care. Patches will not listen to reason. Patches will always listen to her heart, and it already loves you.

We honor Theodosia, who was here in 1911, and personally inspired the creation of International Women’s Day.

Theodosia has distinguished herself as a vocalist, life coach, long-distance runner, and five-star general. People say that Theodosia has a voice like Bea Arthur, but it would be more accurate to say Bea Arthur had a voice like Theodosia. Theodosia was here first.

Theodosia is still here. Theodosia is here to trot impatient laps around your legs until you put down your phone and listen. Theodosia is here to sit in your lap, talk at you, and vigorously wag her half-inch tail shnubbin. Theodosia does not have patience for people who say their tails are too short to wag.

Theodosia also does not have patience for cats who exist. Theodosia engaged in the art of war against every cat we placed in her room. Theodosia had more mettle in her tail shnubbin than those cats had combined. Theodosia won. Now, Theodosia enjoys the assumption that no other cats exist. I would not recommend correcting Theodosia.

Finally, we honor Mistletoe, mother of Berry and Holly.

Holly was born “normal.” Mistletoe never heard that word. Berry was born “different.” Mistletoe thought that was a beautiful word. Berry’s back legs curved like macaroni, so Mistletoe kissed them.

Holly walked, and Berry wobbled, and Mistletoe loved them so much, she nearly burst with joy. But she kept it together, and she kept her little family together, and she kept Berry safe until they could all come to Tabby’s Place.

Now people are using the words “spina bifida” to describe Berry. Mistletoe says those must be especially beautiful words, because everyone is smiling at Berry the way she did on the day he was born. Mistletoe is merry that Berry will grow up in a place where differences mean delight.

We cannot imagine our lives without these feline women.

May we celebrate them. May we be like them. May we bring them meat cookies shaped like stars.

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