Are you listening? I mean, are you really listening?
Do you hear that?
Concentrate.
That is the sound of a cat sanctuary all the way over in Ringoes, New Jersey.
The clatter of dishes and metal pans comes from the kitchen, where sanitization rules the day. The whir and tumble comes from the adjacent laundry room, where wash-wash-washing goes on and on and on. Carts rattle down hallways carrying items for delivery to suites or donations to the back to be sorted. Fingers clack on keyboards. Telephones ring. Doorbells buzz. Footsteps resound. Voices float out of offices. Papers rustle. Drawers slide closed.
Underscoring the steady, low hum of operations, cats are purring, chirping, peeping, and scratching. Their balls clatter across floors. They land from leaps with thunks. Toenails click against shelving. Cat doors clap shut behind entrants (exitors?).
Every day at Tabby’s Place is punctuated by the noisy and quiet sounds of daily interactions: human to human; cat to human; cat to cat; cat with anything in cat’s path. For those who spend any time with cats, specifically Tabby’s Place cats, there are certain sounds that are expected. There’s a very particular sound that Olive makes when she is objecting to assistance with certain delicate bodily functions. There is the sound Mika makes as she whooshes through a soft tube. There is the sound the other lobby cats make in response to Mika’s attempts to play with them. There is the sound of Sunflower’s unique song that continues long after her visitor has stopped petting her. There is the sound of Arthur making sure each visitor recognizes his historical significance.
Every once in a while, the usual sounds might be punctuated with a clang or thump. Not to worry. If something was dropped, it will be picked up. If something was broken, it will be swept away. A goosh is more likely to be a bit icky, especially if a shoe was involved with an unpleasant surprise [Hey, poop happens]. Paper towels and disinfectant are widely available to limit any mess and leave spots spotless.
At the end of each day, no matter what crescendo of cacophony that may have been reached, quiet takes over. Fewer feet step through hallways. Fewer doors close. More cats settle down for evening naps, satisfied and cozy once their bellies are full and their scritches have been scratched.
There is a rhythm of peaks and valleys that punctuate each day at Tabby’s Place. Cats have their preferred routines, and medicines and meals are scheduled accordingly. A rainy or a very hot day can soften the peaks and prolong the valleys. Crispy, brisk days might tickle noses and heighten heights. Winds are usually unremarkable. Temperatures are typically temperate (this is central New Jersey, after all). On those not-that-windy and temperately temperatured days, the hope is for nothing too remarkable to happen. The nothing-too-remarkable, however, never happens at Tabby’s Place.
Everything about this sanctuary-that-is-so-much-more-than-shelter is remarkable, even the daily, repetitive routines and, especially, the cats therein and the people who move mountains to care for them. It is easy and understandable to take for granted, to become lulled, when the remarkable becomes commonplace, when exceptional sounds are heard daily. But, Tabby’s Place is not common. Exceptional is the rule. It’s important that the tremendous staff, volunteers, donors, and broader community see and value themselves for all that they accomplish every single day.
Listen again.
What you are hearing is the soft sound of paws applausing.