Happy October, dear Royal Family!

If you ask Prescott, the tenth month of the year rates a ten out of ten.

October is the month when leaves turn crispy as kettle chips. Visitors enter Prescott’s lobby not even knowing there are gifts clinging to their sneakers. Queen Prescott is not too dignified to chase a wayward maple leaf, sending it airborne and watching as it spins back to her.

October has also been a month of impeccable health for Prescott. This is generally the case, thanks to you, dear sponsors. Yet neither Prescott nor I takes this ongoing miracle for granted.

Queen Prescott can only reign in bliss because she feels so good, in body and spirit. Watching her sprint and sunbathe, it is easy to forget how much choreography goes into her well-being. I can never thank you enough for funding her meticulous medical care each month.

Meantime, Prescott will do her best to thank you by the sheer force of her joy. To wit: Ezekiel.

October marks the arrival of this individual to Prescott’s lobby. The untrained eye would describe Ezekiel as a plastic skeleton. But the cats know that Ezekiel is a real person with a really great sense of humor.

Ezekiel sits in one of the Lobby chairs from September through November, with a cat bed in his lap. The cats, of course, sit in Ezekiel’s lap. They wish he would eat a few more potato chips, but only so his legs would make a better bed. They know Ezekiel became a skeleton because he once refused to get up until a sleeping cat left his lap. Nobody admires devotion more than Prescott. Ezekiel is a true friend.

Speaking of friends, October excels in inter-species happiness. Our Prescott is not one to hoard merriment. Let more selfish cats (who may or may not be named Olive) ask what humans can do for them. Prescott is alert to what she can do for us.

Is there laughter in the Lobby? Prescott’s legs turn into silly springs, as though her joy is multiplied by seeing people happy.

But if someone should plunk down quietly…too quietly? Prescott races to their side, electrified with empathy. I am telling you, Prescott can pick up the rainy scent of sadness from across the Lobby. Any person under a cloud becomes the focus of Prescott’s sunlight. She takes a special interest in whoever is not feeling special.

But in Halloween season, the humans are jollier than usual. Whether it’s permission to dress as Hello Kitty at age forty-three, or the superabundance of nougat, adults remember being children for a little while, and this is always an improvement.

Prescott, being both the most mature creature in the room and an eternal child, is happy for everyone who is happy.

This extends to friends she has never met in person. Since Prescott’s fame extends to every square inch of Tabby’s Place, the cats of the Community Room are aware that they are one closed door away from the Queen.

Little Rori, a jokester the exact colors of October, took this to a new level. She sensed greatness passing by the Community Room, and she reached her tortie paws under the door. Never one to disappoint a fan, Prescott proceeded to play footsie with her. (Rori was so honored and excited, she told all the cats in the Community Room, “I am never washing my paws again!”)

Surely it was this same selfless impulse that caused Prescott to behave…colorfully with other friends.

Dear sponsors, I know I can count on you to be reasonable. We can agree, can’t we, that Prescott has never, would never, and shall never do anything wrong in her life, correct?

Good.

So you will share my outrage that our Queen has repeatedly — repeatedly! — made the infamous “behavior logs.” Prescott has been reported “antagonizing” Jack and “fighting” with Olive.

Dear sponsors, be assured that I have contacted the United Nations, the Jedi Council, and Weird Al about this. (I don’t know what Weird Al can do, but I am sure it will be useful.) Surely, Prescott has only been attempting to make everyone’s October more excellent. There are explanations for all these “lapses.” As Prescott’s press secretary, I can explain.

Jack is a roving lantern of love. He is seventeen pounds of splendor. He happens to have an inflamed larynx, which is why his meows sound a little Halloweeny. Prescott admires Jack, so she urges him on to greatness. She is not antagonizing him. She is coaching him in track and field.

Olive is the Lobby’s reigning Sour Patch Kid. We know her heart is actually a Mallomar, and her love knows no limits. But for whatever reason, Olive keeps trying to convince the world that she is tough and cool, a black leather jacket rather than a pair of fuzzy socks. Prescott is too warm to be cool. Prescott is only pressing Olive to show her own sweetness. If that means goosing her repeatedly, is she not justified?

Clearly, Prescott has done nothing wrong.

Besides, if she had, how could you explain Trent?

He may be one of the newer arrivals to the Lobby, but Trent loves Prescott with a devotion older than the dinosaurs. From the instant he met her, Trent has only had eyes for Prescott. (Trent is a gentleman of exquisite discernment.)

Having once sipped from the saucer of sadness, Trent knows grace when he sees it. He was born with one gnarled front leg, so he hops. He was adopted and returned for inappropriate elimination, so he is hesitant and humble. But he stays within two feet of Prescott, so he is happy in his heart.

When Trent looks at Prescott, you can hear the music in his mind. He is astonished that such a being exists. (This is one of many qualities Trent shares with you and me.)

If you look at Trent quickly, you might think that Prescott bought some hair-growth serum online. If not for the curled front leg and Trent’s seventies shag, the two do look a bit alike. Trent is working up the courage to ask Prescott if they might start a musical duo in the style of Sonny and Cher. He already has a few name suggestions: Greys Under Pressure? Greys and Mercy? Amazing Greys?

Trent knows: Prescott can do no wrong.

All of which brings us to the one and only thing that is not excellent about October.

The humans — and, dear sponsors, forgive me, for I am one of them — have inflicted a grievous wrong upon the Lobby cats. We have discontinued the treats until further notice.

There are “good reasons” for this. The Lobby cats are turning into zeppelins and furred cantaloupes. This is not ideal for their health. In the case of the incontinent cats, it makes it challenging to express their bladders. So we have limited things to regularly-scheduled wet food and the usual bottomless bowls of kibble in no fewer than five varieties.

In other words: it is an injustice of the highest order.

But Prescott is not focusing on that.

Some would say “life is too short,” but our Queen knows life is too grand. You only get one October a year, and the treatless abyss is not going to steal its fun. If you’re looking for Prescott, she’ll be giving and receiving love as though it were her life’s calling.

Which, of course, it is.

Dear sponsors, thank you for being the unwavering light in Prescott’s life, and a constant inspiration in mine. When my spirit feels heavy from the sorrows of the world, I think of you, loving unconditionally, giving without fanfare. You give Prescott life. You give me hope.

May October astounds you with grace and mercy.

Love always, your correspondent,
Angela