“Up ahead they’s a thousan’ lives we might live, but when it comes it’ll on’y be one.”
― John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath
“MY ONE LIFE IS THE LOVE OF MY LIFE!”
― Steinbeck Rosenberg
He has never been to the Salinas River.
He did not finish his dissertation on Genesis 4.
His Pulitzer Prize must have gotten lost in the mail.
But Steinbeck is one of the greatest authors America will ever know.
This is not only because he has known pain, although that is beyond question. Steinbeck was cast in a schlocky play called Cheaper By The Ten Dozen. Not even that other Steinbeck could save this work of nonfiction. One hundred twenty cats hungered in a single house.
“We could live offa the fatta the lan’.”
― John Steinbeck, Of Mice and Men
“You could eat offa the linoleum!”
– Steinbeck Rosenberg
We might call this a “hoarding situation.” That is because we are lovers, not authors. But Steinbeck, being both, called it a trampoline.
Alright, so he was starving, and squashed among second cousins.
Very well, the fragrance was “Humid Portable Toilet” (Bath and Body Works’ least successful Fragrance Mist).
But haven’t you read what happens after all the “terrible” gets spent?
Wait…you didn’t know that “terrible” runs dry?
This is why Steinbeck is an author, and you and I are scraping litter boxes. He came from fetid horror. He had shelves of memories, sagging sodden with pain.
He remained as buoyant as a book about sea otter romance.
All his pages were new. All he wanted to do was hug. The grey cat could not turn grim even if we paid him in giblets.
The past was past. The present was prologue.
This cat had been expecting the future for as long as he could remember. He had been writing it in his mind. Huddled with half-siblings, he journaled about joy. He doodled Tabby’s Place in his heart.
Now it was here, and we were here, and hey — “does that man down the hall need a hug, too? Oh, that’s the dryer repairman? He definitely needs a hug.”
This would be a fine place to end a novel, if you ask me. 
Steinbeck and the dryer man lived happily ever after. Steinbeck’s belief in life after sadness came true. Steinbeck beckoned the future, and it ran headlong into his arms. Steinbeck traded the Grapes of Wrath for the Giblets of Mirth.
But we did not get to write this novel.
Our hero made it to the promised land, but his body hatched a side quest. Between the hugs, head-bonks, and random acts of “hooray,” something stuck in Steinbeck’s throat.
Cough, cough.
It was okay. Everything would be okay. Steinbeck reassured us. Humans are always in need of reassuring. Steinbeck excels at assuring himself that life is insured against a sad ending.
Steinbeck’s own esophagus composed a plot twist.
“I’m jus’ pain covered with skin.”
― John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath
“I’m not feeling so good, but I’m going to be okay. Hey, you’re going to be okay, too! So is the dryer man!”
– Steinbeck Rosenberg
But Steinbeck was not okay.
Steinbeck had an esophageal stricture, in a particularly poor place.
This is where stories stop short. We throw the book against the wall. We come home with an empty carrier. We swear we will never believe in fairy tales again.
But Steinbeck was not living an ordinary story.
Steinbeck was at Tabby’s Place, where love is a wry and tireless author.
If there was any hope of further chapters, we would need to hand the pen to Dr. Fantastic.
Longtime readers will recall that this is our composite name for the specialists who save our cats. When the situation is dire, and the cat is dying, Dr. Fantastic refuses to give up. Dr. Fantastic is all the finest surgeons and the most insightful internal medicine docs. Dr. Fantastic is a phalanx of unsung vet techs, and the marriage of science and miracle.
Dr. Fantastic is exceptionally expensive.
But the gregarious grey cat had jotted “Linda Fund” in the margins of his journal. Somehow, before we knew his face, Steinbeck knew that an asinine esophagus could not turn his dream untrue.
Steinbeck knew that you would appear in Chapter Five.
Steinbeck was in constant communication with a greater author.
And so, the story writes itself.
The cat the color of rain brought his sunbeams to the emergency hospital. He brought his faith. He brought your gifts, the checks you wrote in 2023, and the “Donate” buttons you clicked.
Because you gave before he needed you, a gentle, gasping cat received a chance.
And now, he is eating up an epilogue that tastes like Eden.
Steinbeck is healed and whole, because you wrote him on your heart before you read his biography.
Linda Fund donations are a leap of faith that you will love the cats yet to come. Linda Fund donations are the reason falling cats can land on a trampoline.
It’s a story too grand to ever get old.
Just take it from our favorite author.
“…it’s awful not to be loved. It’s the worst thing in the world.”
― John Steinbeck, East of Eden
“Then we’d better keep loving! We can do it! I love you! I love my esophagus! I love Dr. Fantastic! I love the dryer man!”
– Steinbeck Rosenberg
PS: You’ve guessed the ending by now, haven’t you? Steinbeck was adopted into an adoring home.