ORLANDO GATITO

The Extremely Famous Cat

He was larger than life for someone so small and one of the finest non-human animals in my experience. His presence continues to permeate our lives, as we are often reminded of how his quiet, steady companionship bore witness to our becoming.

I have written elsewhere at some length about his life with us. At some point—when we have gotten to know each other better—I may be able to share more of his story. For now, I will just offer this.

By now, you have learned something about Joanie and Clay. It feels only right to complete the triangle with the story: the namesake of “The Orlando Gatito Society.” Our triangle was not just symbolic; it was substantive and very real.

Here is the short version of why he became such a huge factor in our lives.

The first week of July 2008 saw the convergence of several forces in my life. I had just closed on a small cottage in an historic neighborhood. Joanie and I had met months earlier at a coffee shop, Cafe Roche, and suddenly learned that it was closing. The owners, Orlando and Lina, had decided to move back to their original home in Seattle due to the effects of the recession. While their coffee shop had been opened for a little over a year, the care and warmth they imbued created a wonderful tight-knit community. The two of us decided that we could not let them go without a party that conveyed what the shop had meant to us. So we exchanged numbers and began planning outside the coffee shop.

Soon after, the Roches closed the shop on a Sunday afternoon for the private celebration. We prepared the food, decorated the tables, and poured the wine. Soon the little shop filled with loyal customers and friends. No one wanted to leave. A handful stayed behind, and we finally broke up around two a.m. As Joanie and I drove home we realized that our traditional meeting space was gone and we wondered what came next.

I think it dawned on us, separately, that our relationship changed after that night. We had not come close to a date, though Joanie later confessed that when we met at a wine bar to plan the event, the sun shining through the window illuminated my clear, Caribbean blue eyes and gleaming, white henley shirt, making her think, “Hmmmmm”—my tan from working in the vineyard didn’t hurt either ;-).

We met a couple of times at other coffee places. I had no idea if the attraction was mutual or just the residual goodwill from the party. I have never been good at the “courting thing” but finally found the temerity to ask her if she would like to “go out”. She suggested Thai food which was a complete mystery for me (which became obvious when I did not even know how to order). Despite displaying my culinary ignorance, several real dates followed. Romance? I began to think so and was delighted when she reciprocated.

All that is to say that suddenly and without warning, we became inseparable. We began making ordinary decisions together that carried symbols of permanence. We choose a dining room table together, the kind that promised long, candlelight meals and even longer conversations. We were no longer just visiting each other’s worlds, we were making one together.

As all of this was unfolding, I discovered poor little Orlando—no more than six weeks old—seemingly abandoned in a campus parking lot where I worked. I gathered him from beneath a car, dirty ears, feet, and nose and all, and carried him back to my office.

Knowing he must be hungry, I fetched an envelope of tuna from a campus convenience store. I sat in my office with little Orlando and called Joanie. She knew I had been thinking about adopting a cat for some time and convinced me that my meeting with this little orange orphan was a sign from the heavens (cats have always been an essential part of my life) and I eagerly agreed. At the day’s end I took him home, bought a litter box, and installed him in the guest room.

A few days later at the coffee shop I shared my story with Señor Roche and asked if I might name my newfound companion, Orlando, in honor of our short but very sweet little coffee klatch. He graciously agreed.

For sixteen years, he, Joanie, and I were a close-knit trio in that little bungalow.

“ORLY”

Circa 2009

So, you see, I could not start this website without him. Our triangle was complete—formed during a magical week in July 2008—and it remains the quiet foundation of all that followed.

Another defining moment of that year soon followed: my first grandchild, Mila, was born in November. Her arrival was marked by a small Japanese maple that her father and I planted in the flower bed by our front door. It remains there today, a symbol of growth and the changes that the seasons bring to our lives.

After the shop closed, Cafe Roche friends began meeting in our home occasionally and I began sending out a regular email to friends and family that I began affectionately calling the Orlando Gatito Society, I used the name to represent the sense of community, continuity, and joy that had grown around this small, orange catalyst.

Words matter. They try their best to portray ideas and feelings that we struggle to express. Sometimes, in a very long while, they emerge and become a kind of truth. The name Orlando stands for something precious to Joanie and me and to many of our friends and relatives who were fortunate enough to make his acquaintance. He was not overtly affectionate, but neither was he one of those standoffish, run-and-hide felines. He was not a lap cat, but if one of us was available, you might find him curled up close by. When he desired a good scratch, he made that clear with a stoic stance and precise eye contact. He roamed the neighborhood as a young explorer but returned soon when his chores were done. When challenged by would-be rivals, he resisted combat but rather stood his ground, rising above the callous yowling, ever the regal neighborhood prince.  

He left us on July 21st, 2024.  He has a little plot of his own in our small, private backyard, not far from some of his favorite leafy patches of sunlight. Out of respect, and reluctance, we have not yet replaced the presence of his absence but will when the time seems right and the spirit makes itself known. In the meantime, may his rest be peaceful, until he returns as the “king of the jungle” he was destined to become.

So now you have it—the magic of “Three”: Clay, Joanie, Orlando. The human mind is fueled by memory. Long may it live.

Clay

P.S. Readers of the Jomeokee Journal are considered honorary members of the Society! 😊