It’s not that the cats and diabetics will die. It’s just that they are at risk of poor outcomes.
The elderly cat with eyes like Al Pacino is not a finalist for the Cute Overload calendar. There is a hard kink in his tail from a door that closed too quickly. He is the newest resident of New York Animal Care and Control.
If you pet him, he will not bite you, only exude shame in all directions. If you pet him, you will feel overripe peaches under his skin, lipomas that will not kill him, although they may contribute to a poor outcome.
If you show him to potential adopters, they will avert their eyes. They were looking for something younger, more yielding. Look! An orange kitten! They will not think of Al again. They will not ask about his outcome.
It’s not that the weird sanctuary plucks “death row” cats. They hate that term. They bristle like ferals when Facebook shrieks it in all caps. The weird sanctuary simply has an eye for animals at risk of poor outcomes, the old and the uncertain and the unconventionally attractive. The weird sanctuary is addicted to the unreasonable. They leave fishy thumbprints on recipe cards for unauthorized redemption. They overlook the adorable in favor of Al.
The diabetic volunteer does not understand why the word “diabetic” is passe. Nowadays, folks ask if she prefers “person with diabetes,” but Clara doesn’t mind the adjective. She snickers that her pancreas is as good as a potato, while preventing her from properly enjoying potatoes. Diabetics are more likely to have poor outcomes if they get sick, so Clara takes zinc and gets vaccinated.
Clara came to the weird sanctuary when her cat Bean was diagnosed with diabetes. She says God has a sense of humor, but she doesn’t always “get it.” The weird sanctuary wrapped her in silly spaghetti arms. They taught her how to give insulin injections. They promised Bean would get with the program. They were right. She was hooked.
It’s not that Clara felt lost before, but she hopes you’ll understand how the weird sanctuary is better than church. If they take a cat like Al, they won’t mind when she has nothing to say, she just needs to sit on the floor in the Senior Cat Room for a while. If they take a cat like Al, they’ll ask how she’s feeling and wait. When they look her in the eye, they won’t twitch off if she doesn’t say “awesome!”
Nobody needs to say what would have happened to Al at the public shelter. The weird sanctuary writes good newsletters. Donors take the staff by the sleeves and make them promise they’ll never sell the sadness, not even if it works. The weird sanctuary is happy to promise. Death does not need a press secretary. When the light is strong, everyone knows it could have been otherwise. They will focus on the revolution. They will spin the sun like a lottery wheel until it lands on life. They will accept all of Al and all the animals he invites to the dance floor.
Nobody needs to ask what Clara would be doing if she wasn’t scraping litter boxes and brushing calicos. Clara is more interested in tomorrow. Her hemoglobin A1c is not great, and her thyroid has been heckling her, but many creatures are besotted with her. She will wear her weird sanctuary T-shirt to the grocery store and testify to what happens when weak things get crowns. Clara tries to explain, but the words get syrupy, and finally she says you just need to come and see for yourself.
It's not that the cats and diabetics would have died somewhere else, but we don’t need to speculate about other outcomes. There is a weird sanctuary, and it stages many coups.
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