You know that buncha guys.

If you were a certain stripe of nerdy, you may have bunched together with that buncha guys.

And, like every high school worth its mystery meat, Tabby’s Place has that buncha guys.

That buncha guys may be five-three and ninety-two pounds, but they wear shirts that say No Fear and mean it.

That buncha guys gets excited about new graphing calculators.

That buncha guys thinks it’s the height of hilarity to crank call the customer service number on the back of the cereal box and tell them they found centipedes in their Cheerios.

That buncha guys doesn’t always exactly hit the litter box. But that buncha guys doesn’t sweat it.

That buncha guys prioritizes the present moment.

That buncha guys can seem glib as they glide through the air and knock over their water bowls.

That buncha guys doesn’t get adopted first, or fast, or, sometimes, ever.

That buncha guys doesn’t lose hope or heart.

That buncha guys suddenly turns sincere when they sense your sadness.

That buncha guys somehow always senses your sadness as soon as it sets in.

That buncha guys, in individual-guy portions, will walk you home from marching band after the wrong guy breaks your heart.

That buncha guys knows they’re the right guys.

That buncha guys will sit in your lap, one or three or five at a time, and stare at you until you stop crying.

That buncha guys will even stop eating to make you stop crying.

(That buncha guys loves eating, too, especially horrible things like Hot Dog Bites Pizza, which is far worse than centipede-strewn cereal.)

That buncha guys will make you laugh when you’ve forgotten how.

That buncha guys won’t forget your kindness.

You know that buncha guys.

And you’ll never, ever forget what they gave you.

Photo credits from de top: Impy (because that buncha guys isn’t all “guys”) by Heather; Mango by Heather; Zipper by Cathy C; Paco & Bertie by AT.

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