I hope this update finds you settling into autumn like a cable-knit, pumpkin-spice hug.
Like generations of poets and philosophers and assorted idiots before me, I find that autumn makes me a little pensive. The days get shorter, and my thoughts get longer. Naturally, my thoughts turn back to cats.
And, at their best, those thoughts turn to our Adelaide.
Specifically, I’ve been contemplating Addy’s secret. Now, like all cats, she is a keeper of many secrets, most of which we lowly humans will never know. That’s as it should be.
But I can’t help but wonder, what’s the secret to Adelaide’s unsinkable, all-seasons, stubbornly-sunny contentment?
I’m not exaggerating this trait in our tiny calico. Even in such a laid-back land as Suite FIV, Addy stands out for her serenity.
Consider mealtime. As the golden hour of 4pm approaches, Adelaide’s suitemates start getting anxious. Lester paces. Bo flexes his many toes over and over. Hocus blazes his laser-eyes at the door so hard he wills it to open. (And don’t tell him he’s not successful; dinner does eventually arrive every day. Coincidence…?)
But Addy enjoys the moment. At 3:23 and 3:44 and 3:57, she’s not longing for dinner so much as merrymaking in this instant. Right now, she is alive. Right now, she is in a cozy bed, or a lap, or sitting on a human shoulder. Right now is radiant.
On the opposite end of the happiness spectrum, consider the arrival of the Wicked Mean People, also known as our stalwart vet team. The faintest glimpse of Dr. C and Denise sends Sonny and Wolfie and Buddy scrambling for the ramps, feet flying faster than their brains can keep up. (Picture Wile E. Coyote running off the edge of the cliff.)
Addy, however, walks directly into danger. Brrrrp? she greets the bearers of shots and pills and pesky examinations. Maybe they will pet her. Maybe they will wrench open her mouth to check on her dental disease. Either way, Addy’s okay. If the vet team needs to do something unpleasant to her, she’ll barely wriggle. It’s all good. It will be over in a moment. And then she’ll head-bonk them.
Yes, Addy clearly has a secret we all need.
We saw the first glimpse of this in Addy’s first moments at Tabby’s Place. You remember the story: Addy’s mouth was in agony, her nose was bald and raw, her body was all bones, and that dang vet team was squeezing and examining her.
And Addy? Addy…was purring. Loudly. And making the merriest muffins with her blissed-out paws.
Since that grand entrance, Adelaide’s been doing her best to tell her secret to all species. It’s my prayer this month that we have the ears to hear it. And, in the United States anyway, this would be the perfect month to Adelaide-ify our own attitudes.
Addy’s secret…is gratitude.
In any given moment, Adelaide is too busy being grateful to worry or regret. She’s found the kind of joy that doesn’t need to ignore the pain in the world — and in her own life. This month, the pain is mild; a regular vet check found Addy’s dental disease to be under control, and her kidney disease remains stable. But in the months and years to come, whatever comes at her, Addy’s attitude will keep her in serene stead.
She’s grateful enough to know that joy is always, always, always available.
Wonderful sponsors, I can’t thank you enough for being such a big part of Adelaide’s health and joy. It’s my prayer for you that joy finds you around every bend this Thanksgiving and always. You are so very, very loved, by a certain calico sage…and me, too.