Happy New Year, dear Team TNR!

I hope your holiday hubbub was a triumph of tenderness, and that 2024 is off to a sweet and peaceful start. New Year’s has always been one of my favorite holidays, an annual “excuse” to indulge in the hope and optimism we are sometimes too scared to voice.

By “we,” of course, I mean human beings. Cats are created from fur, whiskers, ego and hope. They do not fall prey to the cynicism that calls itself caution in our species. They believe the best. They receive each moment as it comes. They achieve a remarkable resolution: to greet each morning like New Year’s Day.

That goes double for cats of courage.

I hear you. Yes, yes, of course they are all “cats of courage.” But even in a species of bluster and bravery, there are standouts. Survivors. Benvolios.

You’ll remember our silent silver star from December. On the edge of the holidays, the big solemn cat joined the small fellowship of felines who have literally delivered themselves to Tabby’s Place. Our team trapped him right here on our sidewalk, and Benvolio realized all too late what he’d signed up for.

Sponsors, I will not mince words. Benvolio felt like mincemeat pie. He was frightened and surly. He recoiled from our touch as though it were a stale gingerbread person or an egg nogsicle. He was unashamed to be ungrateful for his warm and turkey-rich new home. He gave every indication that he had every indication to get back outside.

We assumed he was correct. Cats, after all, are always correct. We forgot that cats make course corrections. But then, we forget that we can make course corrections, too.

I don’t know if it was the twinkle lights in the Tabby’s Place lobby or his thirteenth timely dish of salmon. I do know that he was watching like a child for signs of life and miracles. What he saw was you.

He saw you, in the patient, fearless hands that let him sniff even while spitting. He saw you, in the plumpness padding his once-hungry bones. He saw you, in the medical care that enraged him…until he realized he was feeling better than he’d felt in many winters.

He saw you, generous sponsors, in the smitten staff, even as we struggled to decide how best to love him. As with every feral cat who comes under our roof, we devoted ourselves to doing right by Benvolio. Was it in his best interest to bunker down in Tabby’s Place, for winter and beyond? Or would he thrive and feel alive only if we placed him in a safe colony?

With new health and strength, Benvolio’s old life would not have been the wrong choice. But Benvolio was brave enough to welcome the new.

Benvolio belonged at Tabby’s Place.

As you can see, Benvolio is growing into his new life. Cats reject the concept of resolutions, but they are open to revolution. Benvolio is overthrowing his fears, morning by morning. Benvolio is beaming into the Lobby, feeling alive and feeling the light on his colossal cheeks. Benvolio is frolicking — yes, he gave me permission to use that word — in his sunny solarium. Benvolio is commanding the calendar and calling every day a New Year.

He will have all the patience and time he needs. He will have all he needs, period. There will be setbacks and comebacks. There will be flights of silliness and friendships with the likes of Rawlings and Mr. Mustache. (In addition to his human adorers, Benvolio has instantly acquired a particularly good-hearted gaggle of feline siblings. As you can see, his fellow nervous nellies Chicken Nugget and Horace have already welcomed him warmly.)

Benvolio has captured our hearts. But then, we know who really gets “trapped” in TNR work.

Dear sponsors, this courageous cat will thrive because of you. In the truest sense, you are right here with him, with us, with the love that is ancient and new and unconditional.

Thank you from the depths of my heart. May this New Year knock all our socks off with grace and peace!

Love, your correspondent,
Angela