She’s going to be okay, because she has to be okay.

I am talking about Patches. I am talking about all of us.

Patches is going to be okay, because the fate of the free world depends upon it.

I am not being dramatic. I am being honest.

Far from the halls of power, a calico cat with chamomile eyes keeps the peace. Anyone who thinks I am giving Patches too much credit does not know Patches.

I am a big believer that the world is saved a thousand times a day, by anonymous animals in un-glamorous zip codes. Small deeds of love are stronger than they appear. Tiny mercies convince the sun to rise one day more, and then another.

And in the Community Room of Tabby’s Place: a Cat Sanctuary, Patches mends the world.

She does this by seeking out the lost. They are easy to find.

Patches’ world is twenty-one-year-old Tux when he is tired. Patches’ world is the volunteer who just got some unexpected bad news. Patches’ world is the volunteer who has gotten used to expecting bad news. Patches’ world is the quietest Girl Scout in the tour group. Patches’ world is Gulliver when he is feeling too serious. Patches’ world is me, when I am feeling all my feelings simultaneously.

Patches has radar for ragamuffins, and room for us all. She is a sponge for sorrows, but they evaporate the moment they touch her. I don’t know if she was born with this gift, or if it covered her like a pastel patina over time.

I only know that Patches was placed on this earth to comfort the ones she loves.

“The ones Patches loves” is a comprehensive term, including people and cats Patches has met, people and cats Patches has not yet met, and all other mammals, mollusks. and congresspersons.

I watch her, and I want to be her. She drapes herself around Tux like an ermine collar. Her softness is a shelter from the aches of age. She makes ecstatic “muffins” over every inch of his body. Watching this meditative massage, you start to forget all the reasons you were ever afraid.

Patches’ quilt has custom squares for each of her children. She knows when to vault onto the conference table, tail twitching, to remind someone that they are a somebody. She knows when to rest her head on a forearm that’s tired from carrying burdens.

She knows how to blink your name back to you when you have forgotten it.

She knows she is sick.

I erased that word — “sick” — at least five times. Backspace, type. Backspace, type. Patches does not seem “sick,” much less aware that she is “sick.” Patches kneads, nuzzles, and frolics with the same delight and determination as the day before her diagnosis.

Patches has lymphoma.

Patches is too kind not to be brilliant, and too brilliant not to know that her body is … busy. I wrote “battling,” but that is not the right word. Patches is peace on paws. The world has enough war that we don’t need to lob its language at our dove.

Patches’ purpose has always been to heal. Patches is going to heal.

Patches is going to be okay, because she has to be okay.

Our vet team tells me that Patches’ lymphoma responds well to chemo. She is a strong cat by every definition, sturdy and blithe, so we have every reason to expect a good outcome. She has been free from side effects. She is doing great.

But our vet team can tell that I am still a child, so they prepare me in soft words. We have no guarantees. Every day is a gift. Every body is a sovereign nation, with histories we can only learn as they are lived.

Every one of us needs Patches, and Patches is going to be okay.

“Okay.” I erased that word at least ten times. Backspace, type. Backspace, type.

“Okay” is a doily, and all the assurances slip through. But “okay” is the right word.

“Okay” may mean that Patches breaks the Tabby’s Place record for oldest cat (one-eyed, diabetic, FIV+ Slide, who lived to twenty-four). “Okay” may mean that Patches lives all twenty-four hours of every remaining day to the fullest.

“Okay” means that we will keep the peace for Patches. She will let us know what that looks like, from one week to the next. She will let us dote on her and pretend we are the ones in charge.

She will let every worried heart know that she has secret stashes of love, far too much to spend in one lifetime.

I am one of the many who count on this cat, soft as a watercolor and strong as a grandmother.

Now and forever, she can count on us.

Patches is going to be okay. And so are we.

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