At Tabby’s Place, we try to maintain a modicum of decorum.
Translation: we do not literally swing from chandeliers.
Metaphorically, all bets are off.
all seriousness a very small measure of seriousness, there are certain procedures, protocols, and proprieties that keep the chaos controllable. High on this list would be The Vet List.
The Vet List is a bullet-pointed beauty written up by our vet team (triumphant triumvirate of Dr. C, Denise, and Jess) a few times a week. These bullets bring the rest of us up to speed on our cats’ innards and outards and medical meanderings. Sometimes they are concerning; always they are informative; once in a great while, they are downright profound.
Recently, one of our cats was described thusly: “Antsy. Probably just her personality.”
While this might sound sharp in the wrong mouth, such a declaration is a joyous affirmation at Tabby’s Place. If ookiness and oddity is “just one’s personality,” it is no cause for concern. Far from it: bring on the antsy dancing and patchwork of peculiars. So long as you’re healthy, you can be absolutely everything else you desire.
This is a very good thing, because our cats contain immeasurable desires.
(I am not speaking today of Suite C, although its titans are gluttonous multiplied by glorious. Their gluttony is a mortal virtue, hungry for life itself.)
Consider Grecca, the cat in question in the aforementioned Vet List description. There’s a reason Grecca has been repeatedly described as “antsy.” There’s a reason neither Kitty nor I can stop blogging about this biscuit-sized wonderbeast. There’s a reason Grecca can’t contain her jittery jubilee, all frolicsome and yappy and more shimmy-prone than an entire squadron of Chers (also twice as old and twice as fabulous, which in both counts is saying a lot).
Antsy? It’s probably just her personality. And aren’t we the lucky ones to do the ants-in-the-pants dance beside her.
Or gaze upon amazing Graycie, an entirely different sort of splendorcat. If Grecca is Cher, Graycie is Joan Baez, bearing the pain of the world exquisitely, squeezing it from the toothpaste tube of her tricolor soul tenderly. This has translated into lopsided litterbox behavior, shyness marinated in snarls, and woeful-eyed weirdness that we know comes from her colossal concern for India’s infection rate, and the state of the Tigray region, and the plight of the farmworker, and the existence of Dr. Phil. With her big heart and her penchant for melancholy, Graycie was more than a little anxious upon arrival, and, like the best of us, she’ll always be weird.
But she’s learned to pour her pain into passion, which is to say wrapping her entire pastel person around the nearest human arm. I would highly recommend this as a remedy for any and all angst.
Overwrought and utterly odd? It’s probably just her personality. And aren’t we the rich ones to ride down her river of song. (You can hear the whistle blow a hundred miles, you know.)
Or what about Bosco, who at any given moment is testing the known limits of Boscosity? With his wibbly ear and his terrible teeth, a heart with its own troubling time signature and a liver with less-than-valuable values, Bosco is what lesser creatures (e.g. Dr. Phil) might call “a mess.”
But Bosco’s not having that, and neither are we. Where lesser creatures (e.g. any average human) might pout or hide or huddle underground, where they think it’s safe, even though the “safety” of hiding is the biggest of all lies, Bosco abounds. In what does Bosco abound? All the good things you can imagine, plus a few thousand more, collectively best described as Pure Boscosity.
Bosco yells for your love. Bosco rubs for your love. Bosco seemingly turns himself brighter shades of orange right before your very lucky eyes, all bidding for your love, all blazing his amazement that he gets to be alive on this very day.
If Grecca is Cher and Graycie is Joan Baez, Bosco is every single member of the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, the Muppets, all the Mickey Mice who ever squeaked, and the United Nations Security Council, plus all the kindhearted extraterrestrials in all the universes we have yet to reach.
Boscocious and bodacious and bursting with something too brilliant for our earth eyes? It’s probably just his personality.
And aren’t we the outrageously blessed ones to be here, with them, such as they are?
Isn’t it a fine thing to have a personality that deserves Vet List validation?
Aren’t you an outrageous one yourself, yes, you, the one reading this right now?
So let’s get on with a certain revolution of tenderness towards all the peculiarities and personalities today. Be as you are. Sing your strange, strange song. Grab my hand, and we’ll swing from the chandeliers without fear. Metaphorically, of course.
Pictured top to bottom: Graycie X 5, Bosco X 3