I have so many questions.
Where were Dunkaroos hiding all those years?
How does human free will dance with the sovereignty of God?
To what is “The Final Countdown” counting down?*
And, most importantly: how is it possible that Missy spawned Puddin and BooBear?
Yes, I know that sons regularly tower over their mamas, and I know that cats can give birth frightfully young. But still; it’s inconceivable that miniature Missy, all dainty delicacy and ageless itty-bittiness, birthed two big boys.
Specifically, these two big boys.
Puddin was clearly made with an extra measure of “thickening agent.” Nothing from Jell-O’s kitchens was ever sweeter than the tabby titan with the teardrop eyes. He’s every bit as globular as a bowl of tapioca, and even more precious than the pudding-like substance in which one dunks one’s Dunkaroos.
But Missy’s manchild? My brain can’t square it.
And don’t even get me started on BooBear, that tuxedo teddy, nearly as huge as he is handsome. It’s no challenge believing he’s Puddin’s brother, not with their matching bashful gazes and conquering chonkiness. But Sons of Missy? I must have missed something.
Yet we know for an actual fact that Missy is mother to these massive boys. The whole family has lived out their longish lives together — records put the brothers at ten, and Missy at ten-plus-a-few-tender-months. They were loved well; their parting from their human “parents” was a heartache for all; they are family all the way to their marrow.
And if you know where to look, you’ll find family resemblances all over the place.
Start with the sweetness quotient. Yes, Missy is galaxies more gregarious than her guys, a trinket of a tabby with a voice that rocks the foundations and a love that knows no limits. She is both polite and persistent in her affection, asserting herself into your lap in the most ladylike of ways. She is a crustless cucumber sandwich, a harpsichord waltz, a magnificent Missy if ever there was one.
Where Missy majors in social graces, her sons shrink…at first. Both Puddin and BooBear are bearish on socializing, until you take them by the hand and simply insist that they join you in a minuet. Then they’re done for: Puddin is a puddle of purrs under your rubbing hands, and BooBear is ready to be your own personal teddy. Mama didn’t raise no fools; the boys love love.
But the family’s hearts are alike in more ways than one. In a glaring case of genetics, 100% of this trio has heart murmurs. These are most likely nothing to lose sleep over, and zero out of three family members need medication at this point. But, being Tabby’s Place, we’ll continue to monitor them all closely.
Most importantly, we’ll continue to listen for every little murmur and loud manifestation of love from the finest family in Ringoes.
*I realize no one knows the answer to this question, and no one ever will.