At Tabby’s Place, we maintain the highest standards of journalistic integrity.

Thus, we must issue a retraction of some recent reporting.

Comparisons of Mr. Rogers to Mr. Rogers may have been premature.

Mr. Rogers (feline) is innocent in this regard. The fault lies entirely with the news team, by which I mean me.

If I had gone to the source, Mr. Rogers would have been glad to give an interview on the record. Mr. Rogers would have been glad to clarify that he does not aspire to be like Mr. Rogers (human). Mr. Rogers aspires to be like Genghis Khan.

Mr. Rogers aspires to heckle, harass, and hijack the breakfasts of his neighbors.

The cardigan is off.

It would be one thing if this were a rough suite. You can’t blame a cat for being cautious around unsavory characters. But Suite F happens to house the most savory characters at Tabby’s Place.

In fact, Suite F is the nicest neighborhood in New Jersey. Just consider the residents.

Trifecta‘s default setting is “lovestruck.” He is a certified therapy cat whose atoms are 49% apple pie and 51% poetry. He is feelier than Mr. McFeely. Somewhere in heaven, Mother Teresa, Gandhi, and Mr. Rogers (human) are talking about how their one regret is that they were not more like Trifecta.

Then we have Luke, who makes your Meemaw look like the Terminator. Luke is so gentle, he apologizes to his own toes. Luke is so gentle, he thanks the sun for rising. Luke is so gentle, fleece blankets don’t wrinkle under his weight.

Luke is so gentle, Mr. Rogers would like to reduce him to gelatin.

And while he’s at it, he’ll send Trifecta all the way to the Neighborhood of Make-Believe. Trifecta’s lunch can stay here with Mr. Rogers.

At first, we assumed Mr. Rogers’ bouts of barbarianism were isolated incidents. Even the kindest cat can wake up on the wrong side of the cubby.

Or better yet, maybe this was all in the interest of education. That had to be it. Mr. Rogers was just teaching Luke and Trifecta by reverse example: when we feel wonky, we can either talk about our feelings with someone we trust, or we can declare war. Here, let me demonstrate the latter.

But Mr. Rogers did not pick on his neighbors because he felt wonky.

Mr. Rogers felt beautiful.

Mugging someone for their breakfast would make him feel more beautiful. Don’t we want a beautiful day in the neighborhood?

It pains me to report this to you. I have done all I could do to avoid it. I tried to talk to Mr. Rogers, but that did not go to plan.

“Mr. Rogers, can you help me understand what happened?”

Mr. Rogers was happy to explain. “Trifecta came up to me with those big googly eyes and said, ‘friend?'”

“And then?”

“And then he did it again.”

“And then?”

At this point, Mr. Rogers cringed a little, as though grieving the smallness of my brain. “And then I did the only respectable thing.”

“Which was?”

Mr. Rogers stared at me, struggling to comprehend how I could be so dim. “Hand-to-hand combat.”

But before you judge Mr. Rogers (feline) for failure to be Mr. Rogers (human), there is one detail that may be key to this report.

Mr. Rogers (human) never had to compete for chin skritches.

Think about it.

Neither Lady Elaine Fairchilde nor Henrietta Pussycat monopolized the visitors to Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood. It may have helped that they were puppets.

Meanwhile, Mr. Rogers (feline) has to deal with cats who want to be pet by the very people who should be petting Mr. Rogers (feline). Trifecta and Luke would be a lot more tolerable if they could accept that all affection, oxygen, and poultry is the exclusive property of Mr. Rogers. It would be downright neighborly of them.

Mr. Rogers might even agree to like them just the way they are.

But until that happens, fret not. Our Neighborhood Watch will make sure things don’t get out of hand. And we’ll make sure there are enough hands on hand to skritch and shnoogle all of these savory characters.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go stop Mr. Rogers from shipping Trifecta off on a trolley to Tuscaloosa.

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