The long haul is no small thing.
It’s the same old face you loved yesterday, too familiar to be boring.
It’s the umpteenth ordinary breakfast, silent except for the symphony of whiskers and kibble.
It’s Trinket and Tchotchke, cats named for knick-knacks, who have the knack for marathons.
A “colony cat” is usually content to be the bric-a-brac of your attention. Let the snuggle-bugs and socialites be the candelabras and centerpieces. Make cuddle-time with your calico the bookends of your day.
Just let the feral cats be little whoosi-whatsits out the corner of your eye, like figurines that catch the light. If you catch them once, that will be plenty, thank you very much. After the “T” and “N” of TNR (trap-neuter-release), they want to return to their anonymous freedom, unobtrusive as clay mice in a museum of mastodons. Gaze at them too long, and they will flee to the back of the curio cabinet.
Trinket and Tchotchke were “true ferals” in Tabby’s Place’s TNR program. Having never been socialized to human touch, they saw all people as grabby children in an antique shop, liable to break something priceless.
Nevertheless, they were full and true Tabby’s Place cats, which is no small thing.
Faithful caregivers brought food and warmth, lining cozy cat bungalows with straw and promises.
Our TNR team did their best to hide that they were smitten. Trinket had a face like a coconut macaroon, and Tchotchke resembled the lost member of the Ramones. But, they would prefer not to be admired.
More precisely, they would prefer to be admired immensely, intensely, and exclusively by each other.
They loved each another like children love music boxes. They loved each other like grandmothers love light-up ceramic villages under the Christmas tree. They loved each other like fun uncles in every generation love model trains that really go choo choo.
They loved each other through all the doodad days that are too small to mention, until they add up to a life.
Inseparable over the years, Trinket and Tchotchke were collectors of the commonplace. Every morning they could nuzzle cheek-to-cheek was a keepsake. Every night they bumped noses in a dinner dish was a souvenir.
As humble as a feral cat’s pleasures may seem, these fripperies are not made in a factory.
And for Trinket and Tchotchke, one certificate of authenticity turned their moments precious: “together.”
They grew older but refused to grow apart.
They became a little fragile, like porcelain panthers, but their bond only became stronger.
They sprinted from our touch, but ran the marathon of belonging to each other.
That kind of faithfulness is no small thing.
But a small and stubborn thing can change everything. Devoted caregivers noticed hairline cracks in the matched set of Trinket and Tchotchke. She seemed to be losing her sight. He seemed haggard and unwell.
Love could not leave them on the shelf.
Trinket and Tchotchke were coming inside for treatment, for tenderness, and for good.
When you are a true Tabby’s Place cat, it doesn’t matter if you are a “true feral.” You are no less a treasure than Anka in his stroller or Shelly lovestruck in a lap. You are ours. We are yours. You have been certified Beloved. You cannot scrape this signature off, even if you try to julienne us into coleslaw with all twenty-one claws at once.
You will have everything you need, even if you don’t think you want it.
Blind and bewildered, Trinket did not think much of her warm, weird new abode. Though she couldn’t deny it was cozy here, there were grabby, gabby humans, marveling at her as though she were the size of the moon.
Yes, we brought Duck Feast, and Chicken Jubilee, and voices soft as velvet. We resisted the urge to pick her up, although even a blind cat could see that was very, very difficult.
And then, there was the only question that mattered. Where was Tchotchke?
Tchotchke was informing us, in no uncertain terms, that he abides by the rule, “you break it, you buy it.” Specifically, should we break his trust by cuddling, canoodling, or otherwise shnoogling him, we would buy an express ticket to Wrath Wonderland.
Yet even Tchotchke was at least slightly wonderstruck.
He had arrived with a brutal bauble on his side, which turned out to be cancer. As much as human hands reminded him of chicken fingers, he had to admit he was glad they did whatever the heck it was they were doing. His condition was not curable, but it was treatable, and Tchotchke was feeling better.
But that was a small thing compared to the one thing that mattered.
Where was Trinket?
Would they remember each other? We wondered. It is not uncommon for once-bonded cats to grow apart in the emotional emporium that is Tabby’s Place. It is like going from a rural junior high to a huge high school and finding “your people.”
Some of our residents find that “their people” are actually people, and cats are of less interest. Some of our cats arrive in our Lobby and realize that they fit in with the theater kids, by whom of course I mean Berry and Deku.
But one cat only wanted the gift of a Trinket.
And one cat’s wish list read, simply, “Tchotchke.”
They did not want some shiny new thing.
They wanted the same, sturdy, steadfast old thing. “Together.”
At the end of their long road, they found their treasure: the long haul.
Their button noses and tiny chins are again squished together, in a whimsical figurine of a two-headed cat. Her stripes and his silk smush into one plush animal that would put any Jellycat to shame. They are each other’s heirloom and jewel.
It is no small thing.