It’s better that we don’t know in advance, don’t you think?
If you told us, in May 2024, which cat beds would be empty in May 2025, we wouldn’t have had the strength to bear it.
A wise friend once compared loss to a train station. Until we reach it, the idea paralyzes us. We do not think we will survive. And we are right. We don’t have the strength for that station. Not yet.
But when the time comes, we will receive our ticket. We will be given light and courage that we do not have today. It cannot be prepaid. It cannot be duplicated for future use. It can only be counted on, to carry us when our arms are empty.
We have been handed far too many tickets since last Memorial Day. Yet we are still here, on this perilous, beautiful train together. And for every empty seat, there is an old friend urging us to look out the window, look at the cats yet to save, look at each other.
Ash is here, all silver silk and soft blinks. She is here each time we remember her, and memories set our spirits and sinews back in place. She prods our gaze back up, up out of ourselves and our sorrows. She wrapped her days in kindness, clothing cats and people in friendship. She has left us, but she has not left us shivering.
Angelo is here, the winsome beluga of the seven suites. He lived in nearly every room of Tabby’s Place. He defined a decade. He decided to proceed as though everything was delicious. By age seventeen, he was as lean as a sparkler. Yet just out the train window, we glimpse him full-sized and fully alive, beached and blissful in the arms of Mary. If you are ever startled from a sad dream by a good joke, Angelo is near.
Charles is here, the foremost authority on sunbeams and slapstick. He was the first cat in Quinn’s Corner to scale the orange window boxes, grinning like a fat geranium at friends inside and outside. Nobody remained outside Charles’s circle. Nobody gave him enough credit for being a genius. But Charles knew the sunlight is always moving. What matters is to place yourself in its path. What matters is now. Charles stands on greater heights than we can glimpse. He will not stand for our missing the sun.
Tucker is here in his hallmark position, belly-up and bowled-over by the beauty of it all. He did not live to see his best friend Oram‘s adoption. He did orchestrate it from afar. He could not believe we all got to be here, together. He threw himself to the floor in homage to existence. He is weaving wild infinity signs around our ankles on this train, making sure we all stay close knit.
Horace is here, as quiet as a welcome mat. He was the constant comforter of Suite D, the pillow and poet for rattled cats. His hospitality extends beyond the horizon. He reminds us to remember the ones who cannot find their seat, the travelers cowering in the caboose or at the top of the ramp. Horace spurs us to scour the shadows for the best friends we have not met yet.
Checkers is here, his moon face still turned towards the light. He knew the fear of change. Love came swashbuckling, on two and four legs. Checkers let life king him, and learned the crown was comfortable. His passing was unexpected. His life was more unexpected. His life is not over, if only we remember to be brave every time we see the moon.
Allen is here, the gentle grandpa cat with a cloudy gaze and clear vision. He was more rumpled flannel than top hat and tails, but only because he wanted everyone to feel comfortable. He wore his tuxedo to the solarium every day, amazed to be invited. Now Allen extends the invitation to be little Allens, Allenchildren, ready to embrace at a moment’s notice.
Selena is here, forever eighteen. That’s eighteen in human years, poised on the perch of possibility. She beams down on us from the top floor of the cat tower, just as she did in our Community Room. She looks down on no one. She wants us to remember her so we remember our own stubborn youth. Her time with us was not long, but memory is the only measure that matters.
Pandowdy and Dill are here, still small enough to dream in a human hand. They have slipped our grasp but look over their shoulders to make sure we are still watching. The kittens who never grew up are not about to let us get “old.” They run alongside us to remind us there is still so much to see. We dare not close our eyes, even though we are weeping.
Cora is here, the queen in full splendor. She outlived expectations. She enthroned forgiveness, too regal for resentment and anger. Cora elevated the entire Lobby above the cloud cover, up where it is clear that life is always more beautiful than terrible. Her eyes looked almost human, amber as hazelnuts, but her vision was far superior. She watches just as closely now, ready to gather us under her plumage when we are afraid.
Arnold is here, empathy caped in ego. He was a superhero in his own mind, but his mind was so powerful, reality followed its lead. He was the living embodiment of the word “yo!” He knew he was funny. He knew it is harder to make people laugh than cry. He knew how little we knew about life, so he continues trying to crack us up from across the tracks. He knows this is the best way to put us back together. He knows how easily we break.
Rashida is here, the limitless lioness. Her face was as round as a chrysanthemum, like the last and best firework of the night. Rashida expected uninterrupted adoration. Her eye was misty, but her quest was clear. She was sent to this sanctuary to be a sanctuary. She could shelter you inside a single exuberant chirp, her fringed face elated by your arrival. She could save you from a bad day just by resting her head on your forearm. We still see her out the corner of our own misty eyes. She is here.
Sweetie is here, keeping vigil and keeping promises. Few could pet him, but he dared to touch us all. He reminded us that friendship is a house with many rooms. The cat who loved his cubby loved us all the same. Sweetie still speaks in peaceful silence, assuring us we are enough. Sweetie looks out for the anxious and the introverts, steadfast and blinking beyond our sight.
Grecca is here, though the ticket to this grief is still soggy with tears in our hands. Her voice no longer echoes operatic across the Lobby, but her voice is still heard. If anything, she is more insistent. This is the day. Today, not tomorrow. Empty every plate. Leave no word unspoken. Pump up the volume. Make sure no one wonders how much you love them. Exceed the size of your own body. Exceed the arbitrary limits of this lifetime.
Boobalah is still here, close enough that we see her out the corners of our eyes. She had a head tilt because she was an optimist. She entered every encounter assuming she would be welcomed. She proved herself right. She was happier than ruffles and naps. She turned even happier when her ruffled underpants made us happy. She was happiest when she could nap in the lap of someone also napping. If, just as you drift off to sleep, you feel the precise weight of a perfect brown tabby in your lap, Boobalah is near.
Mr. Man is still here, all happy-go-lucky and aware that luck has nothing to do with it. He was as strong as a trumpet solo until the final measure. He surprised Hoopla Green with love late in life. He did not believe in “late.” He believes the best is still yet to come for his grieving friends. He wants us to remember him so we remember to be more like him. He wants us to remember to check on his Hoopla, too.
Lola is still here, larger than life, gone but not lost. The most confident cat struts on ahead, just a sashay or two beyond our reach. She is beckoning us, probably still heckling us. She packed all of our love for the journey, but she will hop aboard as needed to gather more. Lola always got what Lola wanted. Lola wants us to keep moving. Lola wants us to remember the one and only thing stronger than fear, stronger even than strength.
We do not know what May 2026 knows. But we know our friends are still with us, a rowdy caboose of saints and soulmates. They’ve still got us. We’ve got each other. And we will have the love for whatever may come.
PS: I must take a moment to marvel at our volunteers. After nearly every loss, these selfless stars come together to raise the funds for a Memorial Brick. They work together to choose the right words for each cat, like a band of angel-poets. They will not rest until each of our friends is honored. They are my heroes. They are true lights upon this Earth. They are unconditional love itself.