OK, I’m feeling gleeful this month. But stick with me, and you’ll see why (and get a little giddy yourself).
As you know — and, much more, as you make it possible — Tabby’s Place is committed to each of our cats for life. That’s no less the case for our TNR kitties. If we hear that one of our community cats has developed a medical problem, or otherwise needs our help, we’ll do whatever it takes to get her back to Tabby’s Place and give her the care she needs.
So when we heard that “Scabby” was in a bad way, there was no question that we’d scoop her up. It seems the poor old calico had even bigger problems than being nicknamed “Scabby.” We’d spayed her as part of a sizable TNR project on a local farm several months back. Although Scabby was friendly from the start, the colony caretakers wanted her back, and we knew this was a safe and love-full situation, so we re-released her at that time.
But now, Scabby’s titular scabs had advanced to some very angry inflammation on her nose. The poor old cat’s schnozzola was completely hairless and bright pink. Something was very, very wrong.
So Scabby came home to Tabby’s Place.
Our first order of business (OK, simultaneous with attending to her medical needs) was a new name. This darling old dame needed a name honoring her elegance and beauty, even if it was buried beneath the years and the scabs. So Scabby became…Adelaide.
I had the delight of meeting Adelaide in her very first moments back at Tabby’s Place. If I had to describe her in just one word, it would be: present.
Profoundly, phenomenally present.
From green eyes that search to the seat of your soul; to tiny toes that march in place with uncontrollable bliss; Adelaide is completely “in the moment”…and in love with this moment, this life, this opportunity to be loved.
Even as our medical team poked and prodded Addy, the old cat “made muffins” with her paws, up and down, unable to contain her joy at simply being touched. (You can see what I’m talking about below left; this photo was taken during Addy’s intake exam.) It was all I could do not to fall to weeping. Here was an old soul, ravaged by age and the elements and, now, almost certainly advanced nose cancer — but she was in a state of sweet ecstasy.
Just to be loved. Stroked. Noticed. Held.
Our vet confirmed our fears: that hot-pink nose was almost unquestionably cancer. Sure, we’d do a biopsy, but it seemed a foregone conclusion that Addy would have a short timetable.
So it seemed, anyway, to our minds that forget miracles.
But miracles never forget cats.
You guessed it, glorious ones: Adelaide does not have cancer.
She’s fine.
She’s healing from harmless skin inflammation.
And, as I type this update, she’s settling into her new, loved life in Suite FIV. (Oh yeah: she’s FIV+. Also toothless, now that we’ve removed all her very painful choppers. But she doesn’t miss them.)
So you’ll forgive me for being a bit awestruck, a bit giddy, and gobs of grateful this month. The miracle is love. The miracle is you.
Thank you from the depths of my dancing heart.