When you are among friends, you can sing every song you know.
When you are among friends, you can swell to the full size of truth.
When you are among friends, you are not worried what the X-ray will reveal.
When you are at Tabby’s Place, you are always among friends. Look to your left and your right, and you shall see benevolent striped despots, long-tailed storybooks, and beings who will be on your side even when your side is sizable.
You cannot lose our love, not even if you bite us, not even if you insult us with vegan cheese, not even if you show up to our wedding without pants.
You cannot lose our respect, not even if you jam up the X-ray with lard.
Of course, you do not worry about such things, not if you are the breakfast expert who shows up to every occasion in a This Is My Party Shirt shirt. If you are Taylor Ham, you’ve got life on a spit, and you will spin it like a lottery wheel for all your friends. If you are Taylor Ham, the category “all your friends” includes every creature that ever drew breath, including the 20,000 babies born since you began reading this sentence.
But an occupational hazard of being Taylor Ham is becoming so wildly adored, people worry about you.
Ever since earth’s first mother applied earth’s first sunscreen to a child in earth’s first sandbox, love and worry have waltzed. We are severely infected with this phenomenon at Tabby’s Place. If Sketch scratches her ear seven times, or Shaggy begins serenading the ceiling, our vet team will manifest.
Adorers, assemble: no symptom, silly or savage, shall go unexplored. It’s part of the Tabby’s Place promise: whatever you need, o cherished little one, you shall receive. It’s part of the Tabby’s Place neuroticism: we are so infatuated with you, golden cat, we will swaddle you in the snowsuit of concern.
So when top hog Taylor Ham turned a bit turgid, Dr. C turned on her X-ray vision.
The Tabby’s Place promise was slightly modified: “whatever you need, o orb of enormity, you shall receive.”
As our Valkyrie vet tech Denise put it, “folks were worried about the size of his abdomen.”
Folks need not have worried. But folks around here are made of friendship, with long love-fringes, so folks cannot help folkselves.
Taylor Ham has been laughing in folk songs ever since.
Diagnosis, from our world-class veterinary team: “Taylor Ham: X-rays show he is fat.”
Details, for the medically sophisticated: “The large stomach distended and filled with food shows us how much he is eating.”
Commentary, from the Ham himself: “Please submit this to the committee for the Nobel Prize in Gluttony! I WIN!”
Our Founder & Executive Director Jonathan, ever the paragon of delicacy, offered Taylor Ham a second opinion. “It’s all muscle.”
But worry and love must ultimately do the tango with truth, and Taylor Ham is composed entirely of honor, integrity, and Crisco. “No, papa. It is fat. I WIN!”
When you are among friends, victory is in the eye of the beholder.
When you are among friends, you may need a crane to lift certain friends to the breakfast table.
When you are among friends, your friends may suggest appropriate avenues for your grandeur.
I proposed “X-Rays Show That He Is Fat: The Taylor Ham Broadway Musical.”
Denise summoned talk show truths: “Survey says…fat. And the lie detector determined…that was fat.”
Worried folks and walrus cats giggled gales of approval.
Taylor Ham donned his least wrinkled tuxedo-print T-shirt for his coronation.
When you are among friends, you’re always the lard of the manor.