Dear Royal Family,

Happy spring to Prescott’s precious people. You are the roses in her crown. You are the sunbeams on her stripes. You are the epitome of April from January to December.

But you are not going to believe what I am about to tell you.

You have the good hearts, good sense, and good looks to know that Prescott is The Best. There is no contest. If there were, it would be embarrassing for all the other cats. Prescott does not want anyone to feel badly. She is humble about her unrivaled superiority.

But — you may want to cover the children’s and kittens’ ears before you read this — there are people out there who do not think Prescott is The Best.

They have nothing against Prescott. They just think other cats are … better.

I understand if you need to go splash your face with water or take deep breaths from a paper bag. This is distressing, especially in springtime.

But I am duty-bound to deliver the unvarnished news, dear sponsors. And the news is that Prescott did not win Meow Madness.

If you have escaped the mosh pit that is social media, you may not be familiar with Meow Madness. Meow Madness is Tabby’s Place’s answer to March Madness. Since cats have no interest in either baskets or balls (unless the former contain chicken nuggets and the latter involve catnip), the NCAA Championship bores them. Since we are not in the business of boring our residents, we created Meow Madness.

The concept is simple: a bracket of sixteen cats, all Tabby’s Place superstars, with folks voting on Facebook and Instagram each week for their favorites.

The outcome should have been determined before we even began. Of course Prescott would come out on top. Naturally, she would share her winnings with the runners-up. She would give a speech about how winning is all about loving, and everyone at Tabby’s Place has already won for life. She would thank each of you by name. She would even give the cat who came in sixteenth place her trophy.

She did not win.

I will not, I shall not, I must not say that she lost. PRESCOTT DOES NOT LOSE.

But … Steven (pictured here) won.

In his defense, Steven is a delightful chap. Steven has lived at Tabby’s Place all fifteen years of his life. He is the color of brown sugar but a thousand times sweeter. He has arthritis. He has a grudge against the litter box. He thoroughly, richly, fully deserved to win … second place.

But maybe Prescott’s planned victory speech got it right. To love is to win. To love much is to win continually. And, being a nobler creature than me, Prescott is already over this Meow Madness business.

That frees up her schedule for other varieties of madness. There is the sprint through the Quinn’s Corner doors, right past the poster reminding people not to let her through the Quinn’s Corner doors.

There is the task of rolling like a ravioli, an acrobatic art form she will gladly perform for you if you visit and rub her belly.

There is the Dance of the Nighttime Keys, a sprightly trot in which Prescott will race-walk alongside you while you jingle your fob.

And then there is the most marvelous madness of all: staying serene.

Case in point: Prescott immediately reclaims her peace after having her bladder expressed. For a cat with Prescott’s condition, this is essential medical care, administered as gently as possible. But it interrupts more essential acts of exuberance.

No matter. Prescott stays placid.

Peace is Prescott’s superpower. She waives her right to pout over unsatisfactory treats or delayed breakfasts. She does not have time for despair or doldrums. She returns to her default state of “wildly happy” as rapidly as possible.

Prescott reminds us that “wildly happy” is always still possible.

I confess, we have needed Prescott’s powers this month. Grief has left us gasping, especially in the Lobby. We lost not one, but two, of our dearest friends, Prescott’s neighbors Grecca and Boobalah.

There have never been two sweeter brown tabbies. They were legends of love, whose light will never leave us. We are all doing our best to comfort each other, yet our tears start up just as soon as we thought we were “finished.”

Grief is never finished. But grief is never unaccompanied. And when you look down and see Prescott trotting by your side, you remember: joy and sorrow are as close as two tabby stripes. In the space between them, to love is to win.

No, Prescott does not lose, no matter how the bracket may break. Your love is her victory.

Thank you for your generosity, dear sponsors. As the April sun tickles your cheeks, remember that you mean everything to our little moonshadow. Prescott and I are so grateful you’re part of our family.

Love, your correspondent,
Angela