In the Bible, Saul was a questionable name.
In the Place called Tabby’s, Saul was the unquestioned champion.
A pearl among the weenies.
A king among peasants.
A tumble of toes among the standard-soled. We’re talking 22-ish, when standard issue is a mere 18.
We don’t know quite how Saul obtained his auspicious name. No namesake seems quite right for this righteous cat. Consider the options:
- Bible Saul #1: Crazed king known for throwing spears at friends, relieving himself in caves and holding unauthorized seances.
- Bible Saul #2: Avid persecutor of religious minorities. Note: promptly becomes less murderous/more awesome after ditching name “Saul.”
- The Saul whom one had Better Call: Criminal lawyer/laywerly criminal.
Possible exception: Saul Bellow, the brilliant Canadian-American writer who won the Pulitzer Prize, the Nobel Prize for Literature, and the National Medal of Arts. With his many toes/thumbs/miscellaneous digits, Saul (the cat) could probably wield a pen. With his many charms, Saul (the cat) could definitely win all the awards. All of them.
But honesty compels me to confess: we simply don’t know how Saul got his name.
We just know that we love him 100%, all of Saul, for all of time.
Upon arrival at Tabby’s Place, Saul was assaulted by hordes of human beings, bimbling all over themselves to adore him. He immediately had that effect upon us. This would have been a very unfamiliar experience for Saul, having come to us from…well, perhaps I’d best just quote the police chief who described Saul’s former home this way:
“deplorable condition and uninhabitable for most people and animals…”
We expected Saul to be scared, shaken, perhaps near-shattered by what he’d seen and suffered. Comforting him and coaxing him into love could take months, years. No matter; we were up for it.
But Saul had a sturdy kind of soul.
Instead of terror and trauma, what sparkled out of Saul from his ears to his three thousand toes was LIFE.
Rebellious, relentless joy.
With a certain Saulean halo of awe, Saul trip-toed through Suite B, dazzled, wide open to the feast of fun and fondness all around. Ten thousand toes would be too few to tread the full wide landscape of love. Saul was alive, free to be beloved, unconditionally, irrevocably. Why worry over the past?
Despite Saul’s splendor, we humanbeans (the real weenies and peasants) sort of assumed his adoption would be long in coming, if ever it came. At eleven, Saul was past the invisible cutoff most adopters impose, even when they’re open to an adult cat.
But, as noted, we are weenies and peasants.
Saul’s soul knew better.
And so, before we could even post a proper biography to his “adopt-me” page (see?), Saul was scooped up by a smitten smoocher all his own.
Saul, your time with us was too short for our liking.
And we like it that way.