For the cats who passed through
and made everything better.

Apu

Apu came to me at four weeks old. Within minutes of arriving home she had assessed the situation, jumped up beside me, and decided we were doing this together. She never reconsidered.

She was smarter than most. She learned to open doors. She slept in my arms. When company came she greeted everyone — curious, unhurried, present — though she preferred people one at a time, which was reasonable. Large groups were beneath her dignity.

When my mother was dying, Apu knew something was wrong before I said a word. She stayed close. She did what she could. That was enough.

She lived for twenty years. I wrote her a poem on her eighteenth birthday. She accepted it without comment, which was her way.

Purrfect Strangers exists because of her — a place that takes cats seriously, that says they're worth celebrating. It seemed like the right thing to build in her name.

She passed in October 2022. I still miss her.