The day Frankie was adopted, I didn’t want to dance.
More accurately, I wanted very earnestly to dance, but I did not have the juice.
These are the times in which one must be juiced by powers beyond oneself.
Although “Juiced from Beyond” would make an excellent band name, it is not always an excellent feeling. We wish to supply our own juice, thank you very much, our little She-Ra lunchboxes neatly filled with rows of apple and orange and that nefarious “mixed berry” that tasted like every fruit and no fruit that ever grew upon the earth.
And if we rely exclusively on our own juice, we will never grow, either.
Cats, the world’s furred wildflowers, are always growing. Perhaps this is because, unlike us, they’re not always going. You’re at little risk of running out of juice if you know when to stop running and start basking; you’re at littler risk of resenting being juiced when you resent nothing to begin with.
So let’s begin with CAT.
CAT, to the naked eye, is a far cry from She-Ra, Princess of Power. As 80s cartoons go, CAT is closer to the that little-known member of the Care Bears, Comatose Bear. CAT does not do adventures. CAT turns down all invitations to raves and reggae shows and rigatoni-making lessons. CAT is winter-paced, frenzy-proof, narrow-awake at her wildest.
CAT’s juice box appears low, even half-crushed.
But to the contrary, CAT is crushing every day.
CAT is accepting all the right invitations.
CAT is making it to the right dance parties: the lap of a lonely volunteer. The shivering side of a staff member who’s just heard bad news. The eager arms of a donor who hasn’t had a good hug, a power-hug, in entirely too long.
CAT looks flat, to the hurried and harried naked eye; but CAT’s pitcher brims over when affection arrives. CAT appears to be running on empty, but CAT is capable of overflowing.
Love is the juice.
CAT is humble enough to accept its help.
Afflicted or blessed (you choose; CAT has chosen) with a molasses soul and exquisite immunity to urgency, CAT comes by her caterpillar pace honestly. CAT lives honestly, which is more than most of us can say on most days, although CAT knows we’re trying and wants to help.
CAT wants to juice us.
Our shaky, sticky little hands hold our juice boxes high like lanterns. We believe we can bring it, bring the zest, bring our full powers to every party, good to the last drop.
But we live as mortal beings whose days are sometimes waterfall-lavish, sometimes eyedropper-excruciating. We can’t control how energetic or creative or celestial we feel on any given day. We can’t schedule our splendor to jive with the hoedowns to which we’ve been invited. We can’t always provide our own juice.
Which brings me back to the day Frankie was adopted.
As you can imagine, an event of this magnitude required a certain level of celebration. We considered a flotilla, a regatta, and a convocation of the United Nations General Assembly. (They declined our invitation to the dance. Important persons insist on supplying their own juice, which means they miss a lot of dances.)
But we decided only one thing would suffice.
A TikTok dance.
When I was invited to the dance, I pirouetted into panic. It was precisely the wrong day to dance. My blood sugar was 400. I had already given 3 tours. I had newsletters and emails and miscellaneous fundraising frippery to write. I was exhausted. I was all out of salsa. I did not have the dance inside me. I peeked down the straw of my juice box and saw not a single drop.
Then I peeked up and saw my colleagues. (This is the wrong word for the sisters-in-arms-plus-Jonathan who are more family than coworkers.)
I saw them shimmying and singing, all for the bliss of a single cat’s adoption.
I peeked around and saw a hundred cats, a hopeless-no-more halo of cats, streaking or sleeping through their days with the power of the beloved.
And I rose to my tired feet.
And I danced (very, very, very badly).
I didn’t have the juice, but the juice came.
And when the next dance came, I was ready for that one, too.
Maybe that’s the juiciest secret of all: we only ever need to be ready for the next dance. CAT does not concern herself with the distant future (which, when you are Comatose Bear, is called “later this afternoon”). CAT trusts that what is needed will be supplied.
It’s not all up to us.
There are so, so, so many creatures who want to help.
Let’s let them.
Have a juicy day, kittens.