They’re not here yet.

But there’s no question: they are coming.

I speak of the Bounty hunters, a legion of lovestruck humans due to beat down the doors of Tabby’s Place.

They come not in search of paper towels (not recommended as a replacement for toilet paper even in these lean times). They come not for a scalawag’s reward.

They come, when they do come, and they will come, for the loudest white cat this side of heaven. (Heaven, you know, has an abundance of loud cats.)

You might even say we heard Bounty’s blaring all the way across the ocean. Lebanon — land of Cotton and Topache and hummus and heart — was Bounty’s birthplace, but she had dreams of New Jersey. (All wise creatures do.) In Beirut’s busy streets, she heard whispers about “pork roll” and “Bruce Springsteen” and — heavens, what glory could this be? — “the Turnpike.”

Most importantly, she heard about “Tabby’s Place.” And so she made it her mission to make sure we heard her.

We did. Bruce did. And if you listen closely, you can probably hear her right now, wherever you are. Bounty is booming.

If you hear her before you see her, you’re liable to be bewildered. Surely such thunderous squawks must be coming from a deranged cougar, or at least a sizable serval. But follow the frenzy and you’ll find…a small white cat.

Small but shouting.

In short order, you will find yourself slain by her beauty and her ridiculousness and the vaulting voice that just won’t quit. Bounty is irresistible in ways that her photos can’t capture, a living sensory overload of love and goofy glee. Bounty has a long, Lebanese story to tell, and you will hear every chapter, fortissimo e agitato.

Be careful, or you’re bound to become a Bounty hunter yourself. Only one adopter/family will be so lucky.

But before you’re besotted beyond recovery, take note: Bounty won’t roll with just anyone. She is, like all self-respecting cats (and they are all splendidly self-respecting), complicated. She will yell for you and dance for you (yes really) and love you with all her considerable might. But, she will also bite you and swing at you and become bat-guano crazy at a moment’s notice. She has an edge. There’s a tiny razor hidden in this paper towel roll.

Still, we don’t judge Bounty (or any cat, ever, for any reason). She’s just making sure we hear her — all of her, light and dark and gleeful and angry. And, it’s hard to be sure you’re heard when you can’t hear yourself.

Bounty is deaf.

So as loud and clear as we hear Bounty’s soul-song, she can never be quite sure she’s making a sound. Who could fault her for engaging our other senses as she deems fit?

And who, on any continent, can resist her, exactly as she is?

Bet on Bounty, kittens. And be ready for the happy hunters headed our way.

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