Dear Bacon Sponsors,

When I arrived to see Bacon today, quite by accident I arrived smack in the middle of when his suite was being cleaned. It looks in perfect order. The floor is swept. The litter box sparkles. The food bowl is full. The woman who is cleaning his suite is not there at the moment. Bacon is in his house, all zippered up.

There is only one problem:  he is meowing up a storm!

I lean in closer to his house and gently tap the screen. Immediately he presses his face against my fingers and lets out the biggest MEOW I’ve ever heard.

Now, Bacon is usually a quiet cat. He goes about his own business, despite the myriad of warning signs posted all around. Sure, he’s easily excitable, but if you take care not to rile him up and keep his environment tranquil, he will rarely utter a sound.

MEOW. This is probably the tenth meow in as many seconds.

I look around. No one seems to be around. Is anyone coming back? Is Bacon supposed to be behind the wire mesh, or is he free to come out and play?

I make an executive decision. I unzip his house. Whoa. Bacon shoots out of his house like a rocket, practically ramming right into me. But he doesn’t. He makes a quick turn and bursts into the room instead. He is fired up. One circle around the room. Then another one. He issues a few quieter meows as if to say, “About time. What the heck?”

He comes over and sniffs me. I mean he really gets into my face. He has never come this close. He could bite my nose off if he wanted to. But he doesn’t. “Okay, I know you. I recognize you,” he seems to say.

Tentatively, I reach out to pet him a few times, and he calms down even more. Then, without warning, he hops into his house and settles down.

I wait a few minutes, figuring with all the earlier meowing he will want to be outside, in his suite. He’ll want to make his usual rounds, perhaps play a game or two. But it seems the entire MEOW episode has worn the poor kid out. His eyes begin to drift closed.

I have to begin my shift so I reclose the mesh, and as I’m leaving the woman who was cleaning his suite shows up. “I’m here to let Bacon out,” she says out of breath. “I got a little tied up.” (Well, that explains the delay, I think.)

“He’s a bit riled up today,” I tell her, “but now I think he’s gotten it out of his system and he’s fallen asleep.”

She laughs.

I won’t tell her about all the meowing. I’ll keep that between Bacon and me. When Bacon was first moved into the Medical Office, I wondered if it was the best idea–would he get too lonely being the only cat in the room? But, my visiting him this past month or so has convinced me that this new living situation is better. He can be out more, and he seems to enjoy that. In fact, this month Bacon had only one seizure of note.

Bacon and I wish to thank you, as always, for your continued generosity to Tabby’s Place. Your support enables Tabby’s Place to do what it does best:  help cats. It is worth noting that this has been a banner year. All the fundraising efforts that were launched were successful. The opening of the new addition—Quinn’s Corner—provides more homes for more cats and also welcomed new volunteers.

On a personal note, this year I adopted three cats from Tabby’s Place myself: Quokka, Matthew, and Perry (renamed Theo, Michelangelo, and Sienna.) As Sigmund Freud said, “Time spent with cats is never wasted.”

From our family to yours, have a lovely holiday season.

Your correspondent,
Kate