She’s not quite a T.S. Eliot cat (any dots? No).

But who needs her own poem or rock-opera song when she can be the newest Tabby’s Place Community Cat?

Don’t let her dotless beauty make you think Jenny is a princess-type. As breathtaking as Jenny is to behold, she’s even more of a joy to love.

I couldn’t blame Jenny if she spent her hours in search of reflective surfaces in which to admire herself, but she does no such thing. And Jen’s not the type to limit her friends to fellow “beautiful people.” In fact, Jenny’s become fast friends with everybody’s buddy, the beautiful-in-her-own-very-strange-way Yasmine.

Like every feline to join the ranks of the Community Cats, Jenny has a Story with a capital S. Fortunately, her history is refreshingly free of medical mysteries and chronic suffering.

Less fortunately, her story has a shocking whiplash twist, and it’s all about the human beans.

Jenny’s ID number at Tabby’s Place is only 75. We started at number 09, so that means Jenny is the 66th cat ever to come to Tabby’s Place. We’re presently up to cat #837 (the glamorous Twilight – but more on her in a future post).

I can hear you doing the math in your head. #75…all the way to #837…so how is Jenny the newest Community Cat?

Perhaps it’s more accurate to call Jenny our retro cat – c. 2004.

You see, Jenny was one of our first cats, and she was promptly adopted back in the day – so promptly, in fact, that she never even made it out of our holding rooms (where each new cat spends her first three weeks at Tabby’s Place). Struck by her snowy beauty and gentle, loving ways, Jenny’s adopter knew she was The One.

And so she was…at least, for a time.

In most cases, if an adoption isn’t going to “stick,” we’ll know within the first couple of weeks. Things don’t always work out, and it’s usually very obvious, very early, to the adopter in question.

But, every so often – and all too often – it’s not an issue of sticking. It’s an issue of someone or something changing – and, in most cases, it’s not the cat.

In Jenny’s case, her adopter’s family circumstances had changed significantly over the last six years, and her person’s new squeeze was not keen on sharing the home with a certain snow-white sweetheart.

In with the squeeze, out with the Jenny.

I thank God that Jenny’s adopter kept the promise signed on adoption day, to bring Jenny back to Tabby’s Place if ever – ever – “forever” should come to an end at her forever home. Whether two weeks or six years from adoption, the promise remains: once a Tabby’s Place cat, always a Tabby’s Place cat.

Happy to see our powder-puff girl, but hearts aching with her over the wrenching separation from the only family she’d known for half a decade, we welcomed our Jenny back to Tabby’s Place with open arms. She was fourteen now, and showing the very first hints of chronic renal disease.

Mopey and clearly grieving her home, Jenny never quite settled into Suite B. Oh, she made the best of it, alright, hunkering down between the two triangle-shaped cubbies that looked straight out onto the Lobby, keeping her distance from her 17 wacky roomies. But Jenny was the elder statescat of the suite, and as she gazed out into the Lobby, day after day, we began to think we could give her more.

And so, this old, new friend became the newest Community Cat. Jenny is now radiating her beauty and grace from the heart of Tabby’s Place, the Lobby.

I’m not a gambling woman, but if I had to make a wager, I’d say that Jenny’s days at Tabby’s Place are numbered – in the good way. Age and anything smacking of Special Needs are enough to scare off most adopters…but there’s something about our gorgeous, gentle-hearted girl that just might scale those barriers sooner than anyone could guess.

In the meantime, I’m pretty well snockered with Jenny, and I’m not alone. Any dots you might see on our Jenny are just marks from the kisses she’s getting all day, every day. Volunteers tend to sigh her name, dreamlike: “Jenny.”

And, I trust, Jenny’s true dream, the forever home that lasts forever, is yet ahead.

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