Happy December, Royal Family!

We made it. Here we are, together in the twelfth month, 2023’s eleventh hour. Queen Prescott the Great and Good promises: it’s going to be a ten. This time last year, she had nine lives left. Now, the count is more like eight.

But when she starts counting her blessings, Prescott glimpses infinity. So she can promise us with authority:  12/2023 is going to be good to us, all of us, together.

We can trust her on this, and everything else. Not only is her heart as pure as new-fallen snow, but Prescott has lived enough lives in her two years to know a few things.

For starters, there’s no such thing as a bad year, only bad moments, and they pass. If anyone deserved to condemn 2023, it was the little cat whose January included injuries deemed “not compatible with life.” But our Queen was making plans and making mini-muffins with her paws before anyone knew if she would make it ’til morning.

If I live a hundred Decembers, I will never forget the image of Prescott, fighting for life while fighting for her love of life. Right here in Tabby’s Place’s hospital, battling a blizzard of pain, she gazed into ur eyes as though we were New Year’s Day. She squeezed her silver toes, in and out, in and out, grasping the grace of even that awful hour. She let us love her. She loved us before she had good reason.

She claimed the year for hope. She survived. Eleven months later, she’s telling everyone that 2023 is her favorite … so far. And, leaping on those linguini legs of hers, she’s telling us everything she’s learned.

Another Prescott chestnut: friends flub up. Life is snowy, and everyone stumbles. If you want to be happy, dump out forgiveness like confectioner’s sugar.

Our reigning angel may not show it often, but Prescott gets frustrated. As in every family, the ones she loves the most are the ones who most easily push her buttons. This month, Prescott’s best friend Hips has been the most incendiary elf. Normally, these two are Cupid and Comet, in sync and rather in love with each other as they thunder through the Lobby and cause the elderly cats to yell “whippersnappers!” But this month, Hips has been harassing his lady, even going so far as to corner her.

We step in and protect Prescott from the abominable snowman, and she forgives him every time. Ten minutes later, they’re ringing each other’s jingle bells and taking turns teasing gravity.

Prescott even forgives friends who have never, not once, been heard admitting wrong. I am speaking, of course, of the Lobby’s imperious Olive. Olive does not know the word “sorry.” Olive would not necessarily describe Prescott with the noun “friend.” Prescott prances right through Olive’s attitude, dozing beside her as though the tyrannical tuxedo were a sugar plum.

Which brings us to Prescott’s next 2023 tidbit: love is sweet but not sappy. It’s sturdy gingerbread, no frothy confection. Love is the strong hands expressing Prescott’s bladder even when she expresses her frustration. It’s the vet team, valiant and steadfast in their care. It’s the dunderheaded Development Director who will literally dance with Prescott at the end of the work day, when no one is watching but Olive (who would, I can confirm, use the word “dunderhead,” often).

Prescott loves to dance. I have learned this when my heart is lowest, as I cross the Lobby to leave her for the night. If my keys are in my hand, the faintest jingle will set our Queen to chirping and skittering. We do a secret tarantella, laughing and lifting the hour into a holiday.

Speaking of which, Prescott prefers her own calendar to ours. She’s pleased to see us celebrate, but wishes we weren’t so stingy about it. Why put lonely stars on the calendar when we can coat each square in glitter? Why wait for Thanksgiving or Christmas when the best holiday is Another Day?

(Prescott hastens to add that she does not judge anyone’s personal definition of merriment. November’s “Thanksgiving With the Cats” event at Tabby’s Place, for instance, was both exhilarating and exhausting for our Queen, who greeted generous well-wishers until her last wish was a nap. Hibernation is a holiday party unto itself.)

That may be Prescott’s second-favorite lesson of 2023: fun doesn’t always come with fancy wrapping. It may wear brown burlap, like the humble-looking “Ripple Rug” recently donated to Tabby’s Place. One volunteer described it as a “sad putting green,” and that’s apt. It looks as though the AstroTurf dried up for winter, leaving only brown moss and lowly holes.

But to Prescott, Hips, and friends, it’s wonderland. It’s a hole in one. It’s an undulating, fun-filled mystery object where toys bob and weave and cut-out circles are portholes to the celestial realm. It’s a plain-looking party. It’s a promise kept: there is always enchantment for those who decree that life is lovable.

Dear sponsors, Prescott may be naturally wise and joyous. But the truth is, she’s free to love her life because you’ve chosen to love her so intensely. She can hear the angel voices because her heart isn’t pounding with fear. Her soul feels its worth every day, because you’re here to reassure her.

You’re Prescott’s #1 favorite lesson of 2023: love, grace, and mercy are absolutely, indisputably, unconditionally real.

2024 is already looking pretty magnificent.

Beloved sponsors, may you and your dear ones have a sweet and peaceful holiday season. Whatever you celebrate, know that a silver cat with a golden heart is thriving because of you.

With love and deepest gratitude, your correspondent,
Angela