Editor’s note: Yesterday morning, Tabby’s Place was rocked by the passing of longtime resident Beatrice. Volunteer Larry, who perennially referred to Beatrice in his Texas drawl as “mah sweetheart,” was so kind as to pen the following tribute.
In a land of ice and fire and overthrown kings, you never know just who will rise to power. With all apologies to those vaguely Icelandic warrior folk over on HBO, the thrones of Tabby’s Place belong squarely to torties.
Once upon a time, there was a Suite Marmalade. Then there wasn’t, and then there was, and now there is again…in a new form.
Now, I’m as whimsical as any girl raised on Narnia and Tolkien and Strawberry Shortcake. But even I know that certain things do not exist: Vegan cheese that tastes like cheese. Bad John Hughes movies. Great tomatoes from outside New Jersey. Unadoptable cats.
Whereas: only 9% of cats in Tabby’s Place history have been tortoiseshells. Whereas: we are presently graced with no fewer than six torties. Resolved: this is cause for massive celebration.
Vacation is good. Being with family? Molto good. But being away from the Tabby’s Place cats for five days is distinctly sub-good. Good heavens, it’s grand to be home.