Happy April, dear Royal Family!

Queen Prescott and I hope this month’s missive finds you blissful. If we could, we would bring you as many sherbet-colored tulips as we can carry. Just picture me wobbling up to your doorstep with Prescott in my bicycle basket.

Our darling queen has been riding high this month, with nary a footnote on her vet report. Good health has given Prescott time to focus on what is most important: making every living creature feel loved.

Also obtaining the maximum conceivable number of treats, but first things first. She is, after all, Queen Prescott the Great and Good.

Prescott’s missions of mercy would be honorable no matter her station. But let us pause and marvel that such an important individual as Prescott lives her life so generously. This is a remarkable thing, given that she technically owns everything.

You were aware of this, right?

It is written in very small print, in an appendix to the Bylaws of Tabby’s Place, that the deed to the sanctuary, the contents therein, and the complete acreage of New Jersey are the exclusive property of Prescott. (Also Luxembourg, the full catalog of Neil Young music, and every Taco Bell franchise.)

This means that Prescott’s decision to share with us is a total act of grace.

Consider Quinn’s Corner, our expansion for cats with feline leukemia virus (FeLV). Although Prescott does not go into Quinn’s Corner, Prescott maintains personal responsibility for Quinn’s Corner. She sees cats and people in there, so naturally she wants to ensure their well-being.

This means Prescott spends a sizable slice of her precious time guarding Quinn’s Corner. She couldn’t live with herself if any unsavory characters got in there. Such people might steal the soft fleece blankets, or even try to feed the cats vegan cheese.

I must note that Prescott has encountered exclusively savory characters at Tabby’s Place, as defined as “persons willing to provide Prescott with Savory Centers.” But should any pirates or brigands attempt to enter Quinn’s Corner, Prescott is prepared. She will disarm them with the shining force of her goodness.

One should never underestimate Prescott Power.

When our lady is not ensuring the safety of the realm, she seeks to lift the downtrodden. This includes singling out grumpy people and galloping to their side, frolicking with authority until the grumps giggle. I have seen this repeatedly. I have been her grumpish beneficiary. I have learned to report to the Lobby anytime I am low.

But Prescott’s generosity extends to her own species. You already know her patience with Hips, the thundering rhinoceros who has systematically exhausted every other Lobby cat. Prescott will humor Hips until she is literally out of (physical) strength. They play his favorite game, “Fly Like Caffeinated Meteors,” until Prescott finally must lay down (and, if necessary, pop Hips on the noggin).

This spring, Prescott has taken a Lobby newcomer under her silvery wings. Collette may be many years Prescott’s senior, but she is as new as a kitten in the language of the Lobby. There are visitors to beguile and breakfasts and second breakfasts to summon. There is a receptionist who was handmade in heaven entirely of kindness, and she requires head-bonking. There is a telephone that erupts in acidic music. There is Grecca, who erupts in punk rock. There is Hips.

There is happiness beyond what Collette has ever dreamed. Prescott is giving her the grand tour.

It has been quite touching to witness this, the young queen doting on the dowager newbie. Prescott will even let Collette spend the day in Prescott’s preferred bed. There are other beds. There are many rooms in a dream come true.

And Prescott is, after all, Queen Prescott the Great and Good.

Dear hearts, it is only because of you that our darling can thrive, living her life to love in all directions. She and I send you our gratitude, our love, and all the tulips of joy’s garden.

Much love, your correspondent,
Angela