He was born the colors of sandcastles, with vacation in his eyes.
He has more fringe than a cowboy costume, and applied to have his name legally changed to “The Rootin’ Tootin’ Ringoes Kid.”
Bernard never said he was a saint.
But he never said he wasn’t.
Tell Bernard he shares his name with gargantuan drooling dogs, and he will think you are hilarious. Bernard is convinced that most things are hilarious, which is why I am convinced Bernard is a saint.
Bernard finds it hilarious that he was once canonized as “feral.”
Life in an outdoor colony was both venerable and slaphappy. No one has ever proven that those are not the same thing. Bernard had a blast out there. Caregivers fed him, revered him, and got a little mesmerized by the pinwheels in his eyes. Bernard was down-to-earth and fancy free.
He never said he wanted human attention. But he never said he didn’t.
Some saints heal the sick, some saints can bilocate like Luke Skywalker, and most saints wear disguises like blue jeans and hoodies. But at least one saint launched his mission by performing feats of “acting funny.” (That is the original Latin term.)
This did not appear funny-ha-ha to us, but everything is funny-ha-ha to Bernard, and that is why he is a saint.
When you are part of our wider parish of colony cats, you are as much a “Tabby’s Place cat” as the congregation inside the sanctuary. If ever you should appear unwell, your caregivers will wing you back to us for treatment.
So, for Bernard, acting “not quite right” was the shortest route to the right place. I suppose he could have bilocated, but I think he saves that for emergencies involving papal encyclicals and Taco Bell.
No sooner had Bernard, “feral” and “unwell,” arrived at Tabby’s Place, than he traded the codex of concern for complete comedy. Bernard loved people. Bernard loved all people. Bernard was as healthy as a billion broncos. Bernard was sent to this Earth to bless other beings with the benediction of his belly. Bernard was a mystic of mischief and a canon of kisses.
Bernard was messing with us, which is further evidence that Bernard is a saint.
As we all fell smitten and spellbound, two things were evident: (a) Bernard was not going back outside, and (b) Bernard was correct: most things are hilarious.
It was hilarious when Bernard became a snuggle-bug. Have you ever thought about how hysterical it is to pet a cat? Here is a mysterious soul, enshrined in a cathedral of ribs and fur. You mutually agree that it is good for your hands to give the sacrament of snuggles. Words are unnecessary. (Words may be appreciated, especially if you address the mysterious soul as “Bernardo the Astonishing.”)
You are fifteen times their size and have slightly different goals, although there may be considerable overlap when it comes to “healing the world” and “maximizing consumption of provolone.”
It was hilarious when Bernard requested a private chapel. It happened to be the staff shower room, but the holy moves in mysterious ways. This idyllic setting would enable Bernard to fully enjoy human laps — laps and laps and laps and laps — while resisting the temptation to call down thunderbolts upon other cats.
Right. There is just one thing Bernard does not find hilarious: cats.
Bernard never said he thinks cats are hypocrites, Pharisees, and flan-brained salamanders unworthy of his time. But he never said he didn’t.
Bernard’s original caretakers said Bernard was “not nice” to the cats in the colony. Bernard thought that was hilarious. Bernard thought he was perfectly nice. Bernard reminded us that the original Latin word for both “perfect” and “nice” is “Bernard.”
Bernard never claimed to love his neighbors. But he never said he didn’t.
Yet nothing could be more hilarious, more heavenly, and less surprising than Bernard’s adoption. The Old English word for “hilarious” really does (I am not making this up) mean “blessed.” So it was fitting that Bernard should boogie forth from our sanctuary, singing “Oh Happy Day” in adoring arms.
Fitting. But not, alas, forever.
As discussed, Bernard finds it hilarious that he shares his name with dogs the size of submarines who drool enough to fill the seas. It turns out Bernard finds all dogs hilarious, and this time I do not mean “blessed.” Bernard finds dogs so hilarious, he is on a mission from God to eat them like frankfurters.
Bernard’s adopters had dogs. Bernard’s adopters would prefer their dogs not be eaten like frankfurters. Bernard came back to Tabby’s Place.
Bernard never said that he is in love with Tabby’s Place and wants to stay a little longer. But he never said he didn’t.
And although we believe his true forever home awaits, we have a collective confession. We’re glad to get a bit more time in his loopy, lively light. Hold Bernard in your lap, and you’ll spend the rest of the day floating several inches off the ground. Kiss Bernard, and the impish votives in his eyes will light your candle.
Listen to the Psalter of Bernard’s purrs, and you might even drool.