Be it known: if you spend any amount of time at Tabby’s Place, you will step in it.
You will step in the vomit. You will step in the excrement. And, in more ways than one, you will step in The Wet.
Growing up in my family, one was often warned, “Don’t step in The Wet.” If my Mom mopped the floor, it was, “Don’t step in The Wet.” If my Dad spilled a jug of Ecto Cooler, it was, “Don’t step in The Wet.” Even if we were in public and came upon a puddle, the loving caution would come: “Don’t step in The Wet!”
I was probably at least nine twenty-six before I realized that other people didn’t treat The Wet as a proper noun. But this is a habit that cannot be unlearned, so The Wet sloshes on. My Mom and I still regularly tell each other not to step in The Wet. Sometimes I catch myself warning comrades at Tabby’s Place: “Peachy just vomited. Don’t step in The Wet.” (These comrades then look at me as though I am The Special.)
But the truth is, you can’t always avoid stepping in The Wet. Sometimes you’re so distracted by the stars that you aren’t looking down at The Wet. Sometimes The Wet is invisible until it touches your (inevitably-bare) feet.
And sometimes, we wade right into The Wet with eyes wide open.
There’s a second kind of The Wet at Tabby’s Place, and it can’t be avoided forever, not if your heart is beating. In an interview with some magazine for techie guys, Jonathan once riffed on how he’d been trained to work with software and hardware, but cats were a kind of unwieldy “wetware.” That sums up our favorite species nicely. We can’t control cats. (We wouldn’t want to.) We can’t always control what befalls them. (I wish we could.) But we can always be with them in the midst of The Wet, whatever it brings.
We knew we were cannonballing into The Wet when we first met Jennifer Ann. As the fiercest member of the Snowtober contingent, this old broad introduced herself with teeth flashing. This was Betty White meets Machete Kills. This was waaaaaaaaaaaaaar (per JenAnn). This was looooooooooove (per us, albeit with fear and trembling). This was uncertainty. This was The Wet.
We waded through wet, wondrous places with JenAnn for the next 2 1/2 years, risking our hearts over and over again as she made progress on two tracks. The only thing that outpaced Jennifer Ann’s kidney disease was her trust. By the time we finally lost her a few days ago, JenAnn was a mush mouse of the first degree.
She was worth it. We’d step into The Wet for her all over again.
We knew The Wet was creeping on quickly when we accepted Myrtle. A man of compassion had found the crumpled cat on the road, eased her into a box, and brought her to us. Ancient and paper-thin, Myrtle scarcely seemed alive — until the wet food came. To see this tiny skin of a cat eat was a fiesta of gusto. But all the turkey feast in the world couldn’t fix our fighter. The easiest way to explain what ailed Myrtle is to simply sigh the word “everything.” To love her at all was to welcome heartbreak. We walked into The Wet waist-high, adored her anyway, and gave her a few glorious days of love and kisses and wet food before the inevitable goodbye.
She was worth it. We’d step into The Wet For her all over again.
Our hearts were still raw when tiny cries emerged from Magnolia’s crate. The teenage tortie was still a week away from her “due date,” but there was no stopping what had started. Of her six kittens, only four ever drew breath. Dr. C and Denise warned us: the four survivors were as breakable as butterflies, and might be twice as short-lived. Loving them could be dangerous.
But how could we do otherwise? Against all odds,* wee Satomi, Azalea and Yoshino thrived. I have never seen a creature so delicate yet exquisite as these preemies, all new and shimmering through their peach-fuzzy fur. Azalea (no relation to Iggy, despite being exceptionally fancy in her own right), rolls and wriggles and screams so vigorously, she was probably doing karate in Magnolia’s tum.
But there were four live kittens. Were.
The Wet crashed over us Monday night, as tiny Forsythia breathed her last. Beloved by foster mom Danielle, cradled in the loving arms of Denise, and cuddled in turn by each of us, Forsythia left this world adored to the utmost. It left me breathless to realize just how much you can love a creature so new and eternal all at once.
She was worth it. We’d step into The Wet for her all over again.
And just when it all might seem too much, yesterday morning a fresh chorus of shrieks sang of all things sunny and strong. Magnolia’s “maternity ward” roommate, Patrice, birthed six healthy, splendorous kittens. They are wildly alive. We are in awe.
And we’ll do it all over again.
*My sincere apologies for quoting Phil Collins. Blerghhh.
Photo credits from de top: One of Patrice’s babies by Danielle; Jennifer Ann by John M. x2; Magnolia’s babies and little Forsythia by Danielle; Patrice’s brood moments after birth by Danielle.
OH how precious they all are…it is SO worth going into the wet. I remember a friend of mine had a vet tell her when her cat died, that it was better to love and lose them than never to have had them at all. So true…thank you Angela for such a beautiful reminder. I love the pictures…especially the one with Myrtle’s cat food face. Precious, precious, precious. THANK YOU EVERYONE AT TABBY’S PLACE FOR ALL YOU DO…MAY GOD BLESS YOU ALL! XOXOXOX
Cats are wonderful. Time and again, Tabby’s Place proves that they are all worth it – worth the love and the heartbreak. Thank you for this.
Whether it’s a decade with our kitty-loves or just hours, every second is worth it.