We can’t solve all the mysteries of the world on this blog. At least not today.
Is Sasquatch real? How about the Yowie Man? Why aren’t we awesome enough to call Sasquatch “the Yowie Man” like our Aussie friends do? I’m afraid I don’t know.
But today, we’ll beat the Weekly World News to one age-old mystery: if Violet had a baby, what would she look like?
Violet, as all hominids this side of the Yowie Man know, is a neon-pink dahlia in a sea of palest beige. She’s the feline equivalent of Cyndi Lauper, a 55-gallon drum of Red Bull, and the biggest, roundest yellow sunshine ever drawn by a kindergartener. Rotund, remarkable and blazing with life, Violet is abundance.
While other cats are content with being one or two tones, Violet is all the colors. When God was handing out cat markings, Violet ambushed heaven, knocked over the box of crayons and rolled around in them until they all melted into her. There has never before been a cat like Violet. There will never again be a cat like Violet.
But there is a microViolet in town. Meet Violet’s unexpected protege, Ursula.
At first blush, these two torbies would seem as different as Hot Magenta and Burnt Umber. Violet hails from steaming Georgia and majors in muchness. Ursula came from the coldest corner of the polar vortex, trim and prim as an Ursuline nun.
But don’t let that first blush befuddle you. These girls are simpatico far beyond their matching technicolor coats.
Upon meeting Ursula, you’d be pardoned for thinking her a study in seriousness. With her perfect inverted-V mouth and dainty bearings, she’s the girl who would rather reread Semiotics and the Philosophy of Language than go out for cheeseburgers. Her plaid skirt is never wrinkled and she always sends thank-you notes within two days.
But beneath that proper exterior beats the ultraviolet heart of a wild woman.
“Serious” was all Ursula could muster in her first days at Tabby’s Place. This set her apart from her companions, giddily friendly Darla and Helga, who were both scooped up before you could say “bazinga.” All three girls had come from a strange cloud of good intentions, in which a “rescuer” had caged them outdoors so as to prevent them from reproducing. Alas, their cages were devoid of protection from the elements, and the polar vortex had just dropped by for an extended visit.
Through a happy series of circumstances, the trio came in from the cold to Tabby’s Place, where Ursula was immediately overshadowed by her fellow travelers. If Ursula hinted her interest by letting you borrow her notes, Darla and Helga were making you armfuls of rubber band bracelets before they knew your name. It was not surprising that the extroverts got the early attention. It never is.
But those who wait are always rewarded.
After clearing quarantine and settling into Suite B, Ursula began to let her colors loose. Watching Violet prance and squawk, Ursula was strangely at home in herself…and from there, it was all over but the feline remake of The Patty Duke Show.
Nowadays, walk into B, and you’ll be greeted by two technicolor torbies. Plus-sized and perfect, Violet is a little louder and a little larger. But though Ursula be tiny, she is mighty, and her meow will not be denied your love.
I must note that Violet didn’t exactly ask for her mentor role. (She was originally offered Shakira’s job on The Voice, but she declined that too.) When Ursula gets too close to Violet, or to Violet’s person of choice, Vi swiftly reeducates her protege. But Ursula’s learned enough to know that, when love is in the lesson plan, there is no Plan B. She’ll simply pinch her little face together, recoil from Violet’s protests, then go right on glowing.
Call them the unshrunken violets. Call them the Ursuline sisters. But whatever you do, call them — Suite B has never been better.