None of the cats at Tabby’s Place has won an Academy Award for best song, nor anything else for that matter. It’s not for want of trying. Although, film isn’t really in the cats’ repertoire. However, singing is. As long as Jonathan isn’t in his office with the music blaring in order to aid his concentration, Tabby’s Place is typically very quiet. A wonderful thing about that is how easily feline voices can be heard when they’re lifted in song.
Marcia is disinclined to sing along with the music in the executive office, but she is quick to lodge complaints about particular playlists and to demand the person-door access to the solarium for her to sashay through in whichever direction she wishes to go. For their parts, Winky and Ruby (too far away to have opinions about death metal vs. 80s pop) are apt to sing for their suppers or to request some pats and a scritch or two.
Scritches may be doled out, but with caution. Both Ruby and Winky wear (well, they’re supposed to) orange-collars, so volunteers, staff, and visitors will know they both can get overstimulated and a bit snapish or slapish. Best to stay within comfortable limits and enjoy the harmony. For a bit more freedom, Leo is a calmer bet, but he prefers to keep his tunes in his head.
Throughout the building, though, are those more willing to stretch their vocal chords. Joy-Joy, for example, chirps and sings, eager for attention and play time and hypoallergenic snacks. For the record, her name is simply Joy, but she is so delightful it should be doubled. As soon as she pipes up, orchestras launch into coordinated arrangements of the best song ever written. They play back-up to Joy’s brilliance as she dances her tiny little self around in perfect rhythm.
Meanwhile, around the sanctuary, additional cat songs can be heard. All of these are catchy tunes. They have a way of worming past the ears and into deeper parts of the brain and heart. There, they get cozy, settling in and wrapping the listener in ethereal blankets that are better than the weighted kind.
There is no way to explain what it is like when a Tabby’s Place cat sings about the day that was, the treats that are overdue, and the supper that, honestly and far too seriously, has never, ever been delivered once to any cat at all the whole time that the sanctuary has been open. The chorus of hunger beyond compare coming from the most well-fed felines in all of catdom is part hilarious, part heart-wrenching, and entirely a hug in vocal form.
Mostly, though, rather than a chorus of the wretchedly hungry, there are happy soloists chirping away to whoever will listen. The key to winning an Oscar for best song, though, is through collaboration. Maybe we can organize the singers into cat-bands.
With the right writing and the best choreography (by Joy-Joy, of course-course), Tabby’s Place can stage the best music idol competition the universe has ever seen. Band names can include things like Purr-Fect 10, The Mousers, or Rock-cats (with lots of high kicks in their show).
Suggestion: We call the collection of bands T-Pop (for Tabby’s Pop), and we call the singers Kitty Huggers. Prediction: everybody wins. (Side prediction: my missing marbles will be found. I strongly suspect Murdock pocketed them while he was sitting on my lap and licking my hands the other day.) Before you know it, there will be an animated movie called T-Pop Kitty Huggers. We can Netflix and chill together. The universe will be better for it.