If you tell Elsbeth she is a leader, she will look around to see if you are talking to someone else.
Who, me? You must be mistaken. I am only a granny cat, minus the grandkittens.
But if you let her lead, you will be amazed what follows.
Elsbeth is the kind of grandmother you can trust to tell the truth.
She would make you ricotta pancakes with blueberries arranged in a smiley face, but she would also chase you upstairs with her wooden spoon when you got fresh.
She would cross-stitch you little decorative pillows that say “Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all of the days of my life,” but she would not let you win at canasta.
She would lead, without ever letting on.
By Elsbeth’s age, life leads us all some places we would not have chosen. In her case, that meant the loss of home and family. She had only ever lived in one condo, and only ever shared the scent of one soulmate. There was no repertoire of hands and faces to teach her that kindness shines in many eyes.
Then, all at once, Elsbeth was ensconced in kin.
She did not immediately recognize us as family. All she knew was that her world split open, and a profusion of people poured out: staff, volunteers, and Tabby’s Place people of many stripes.
They came in “old” and “young,” though she was pretty sure we were all still some sort of toddler. They wore freckles, and singy-jingly voices, and cool cargo pants, and warm smiles. They brought fishy mush, and minky fleece, and they seemed to know every show tune since the birth of Broadway.
(Seriously, what was it with these kids and all the singing?)
But, just when Elsbeth started growing a soft spot for all of us overgrown grandchildren, the story got ahead of itself.
We tried to touch her. (We also had to pill her.)
Granny went supernova.
There was only one responsible authority in this house, and it was the only one of us old enough to have voted for Eisenhower.
Being children, we all whined, moaned, and sang lots of West Side Story and Oklahoma. Why, why, why, would Elsbeth not let us love her? It was not fair. It was not right. Couldn’t she see that we were here to help her and comfort her?
Did she not realize that we are enchanting, and delightful, and cuter than wombats in overalls?
Then, one voice counseled wisdom: “Let her lead.”
I will not embarrass the coworker-friend who spoke these words, other than to say that his name is Mario, and he is a genius and an absolute legend. But he was right. It was futile to impose our expectations, even if they were made of adoration.
Elsbeth was the maestro, and we were her kazoos.
Elsbeth was the granny cat, and we were her grandkittens.
Elsbeth is a gifted leader, and we are here to follow.
Sure enough, by listening to the little senior’s cues, we all learned a new song together.
Elsbeth’s grief and hope spoke softly. She showed our love when and how to land. She came to trust us, in the time and tone of her own truth. She guided our hands to pet her and to refrain, at the rhythm of her own restoration.
And she found the home beyond hopes and dreams, with the person who will love her forever.
Let a cat lead, and goodness and mercy will always follow.
Thanks to Elsbeth’s AwesomeAdopter for these amazing photos … and, most of all, for giving our little grandma cat the chance to be as cherished as a kitten again.
