He knows how to open portholes between worlds.
Even Wikipedia recognizes him as “lustrous.”
And no matter how high he lifts his bottom when you skritch him, he will always be a free element.
We are speaking of Cobalt, a silver cat whose past has a patina. Today, his plush fur almost rises up to meet your fingers. Every electron shimmers when you smile in his eyes. The only chemistry on his mind is love potions.
Not long ago, this true blue soul was the nucleus of fear. As one of nearly 140 cats saved in this summer’s monumental colony rescue, Cobalt knew about the elements. He has seen ice crystals gang up on his whiskers and heat lightning scare the sky.
Survival was a full-time job, leaving little leisure for loving.
But when they are familiar, even heavy skies feel like home. Cobalt did not ask to be extracted. He did not volunteer to be the newest precious metal at Tabby’s Place. His goals maxed out at “feeling basically kind of okay.”
Come to think of it, most of our goals hang out on that cul de sac of the periodic table.
But Cobalt is what they call a “transition metal.” I can’t tell you precisely what this means, since chemistry was my worst subject (I survived on extra credit for irrelevant questions like, “Who sang Ooby Dooby?”). But I am pretty sure it has something to do with the element at the head of the table: courage.
It took courage for Cobalt to cuddle up close with his kith and kin. In their early days here in love’s laboratory, Cobalt, Hydrogen, and their relatives leaned hard on their bonds. When you are sore afraid, it might feel easiest to go it alone, burrowing under blankets and trusting only your thundering heart.
But Cobalt chose community. Cobalt consoled his friends. The comfort he gave cuddled up with the comfort he got, and soon everyone got the general idea that they might be permitted to feel basically kind of okay.
That is an important goal. You can live there all your life.
Or you can become a free element.
Cobalt is curious, as elements go. You may know that it is used for rechargeable batteries. When the electricity is out, you are not powerless if you have Cobalt. The same element has been admired since antiquity for producing a resplendent blue. If you wish to wear the colors of sea, soul, and sky, you need Cobalt.
Cobalt is also curious, as cats go. When you are ready for more than “basically kind of okay,” curiosity and courage will hold your paws. When you are a transition metal, you can go into the unknown, trusting some great unseen core. You have the power to recharge your courage, even if the years have left loose wires. You contain all the colors, even if some say you are grey.
You share your name with the Kobold, a house spirit who knows how to weave among worlds.
And so you outsmart the Tabby’s Place cubby portholes, passing like light between walls.
You look larger mammals right in the eyes, taking them at their ooey-gooey word.
And when someone skritches your spine, you are not too proud to lift your rear end as high as hope itself.
Cowering no more, Cobalt is making his fellow elements curious. He could keep his courage to himself, lest other cats crowd his new world. There are only so many human brows to head-bonk in New Jersey, and a cat’s gotta look out for himself, right?
Not if he’s a free element.
Cobalt shines enough to share. 
He wants every cat to come join him in this new, true world. Loving people has not loosened his bond to cats. He is free enough to care for the ones still captive to fear. His velvet coat shimmers, nearly blue in the right light, as he exults in being an example.
Timid elements watch from the sidelines. If Cobalt can luxuriate in love, perhaps “basically kind of okay” is too pale a goal. If Cobalt sends postcards from a warmer world, maybe even very old ice can melt.
If Cobalt has his way, every battery will be recharged, and every bond will lead to another.
At the Tabby’s Place laboratory, that’s all the extra credit you’ll ever need.