In Memory of Orca 11/23/2021 – 3/5/2025
In the timelapse of a bustling life, as we collectively wade through our daily routines, we never know the impact of a glance, a kind word, or even reading an email. A glance can mean a new meeting, a kind word a connection fostered. And who knows, if you open an email, you may find yourself looking into the precious round eyes and at the chubby cheeks of your new favorite cat. That’s what happened to our Director in December of 2023 when she first heard of Orca.
What a name, right? There was nothing killer about this cat, though the whale aspect certainly fit with his tight drum-belly. Orca was an intact male, which meant he had a generous helping of cheeks, a thick fat pad on his belly, and a story that gripped us by our hearts and left us desperate to bring him home.
Orca had been rescued by Amanda Smith, a prominent member of the rescue community in Dallas. She dedicated her life to rescue, so it’s no wonder a vulnerable cat like Orca wound up in her very capable hands. Tragically, Amanda passed away a mere two weeks after taking Orca home. Before that, he’d been rescued from a hoarding situation that left this precious boy with no real sense of what home could be.
We were honored to give him the chance to find out. So, in January of 2024, after being fixed, of course, he traveled all the way from the SPCA of Texas to Shadow Cats. They told us we were going to love him, but there was no real way to know how true that was until the moment we met him. Orca, despite the uncertainty of his life up until that moment, was full of nothing but love. So many of us carry the baggage of difficult years on our backs like backpacks that bend you backward, but Orca was light and airy like he’d never had a bad day in his life.
He sat in the carrier for maybe a half second, unsure, before tumbling out clumsily and flopping onto his back to ask for belly rubs. It was the most incredible thing. It became clear at that moment that Orca never knew a stranger, nor did he want to—you were immediately best friends, and there was no discussion to be had about it. Not that any of us were complaining, of course.
We initially felt like Orca would be the perfect fit in Cookie’s Place. There are usually lots of kittens, but he had this nurturing energy about him that we felt would mix well with the youngsters. Our image of him in our heads was so incredibly sweet, that we actually couldn’t fathom him harming a fly. One day, the techs were trimming Nori’s nails. Nori is a bit of a Diva, especially for any medical treatments (please don’t tell her I told you that). So, she of course was vocalizing her discontent. Orca, so sweetly, strode up and meowed at her, seeming to try and comfort her with a delicate paw. We couldn’t stand the cuteness, our hearts swelling…until he hauled off and smacked her!
We were in shock! How could this precious guy do something like that? Well, it turns out the only time Orca ever raised a paw was when a cat was complaining about treatments. Which proved to be very ironic, because he hated being medicated, but I digress. We eventually found out that Cookie’s Place just didn’t vibe with him. There was simply too much commotion. He needed a softer place to land, so we made the decision to move Orca to the Annex.
What a transformation that brought out in him. Orca was a different cat with the others in the room. Gone were the boxing gloves and returned were the soft looks and tendency to beg for belly rubs. Finally, after all his time searching, Orca found a home. His personality shined, larger than life itself, and his presence seemed to have an effect on the other cats.
Orca embodied this protector mentality, somehow. He developed bonds with all the cats in the room, making fast friends even with cats that didn’t seem that sweet on anyone else. He was always eager to groom them, and always happy to pile up on the catio in some of the biggest cuddle piles we’d ever seen. Orca emanated love, and even the other cats seemed to feel that. It radiated from him in a warm glow, a firefly’s light flitting through the night in pulses. Orca’s presence was healing: to cats, to people, to all.
Seeing his relationships blossom was both heartwarming and a topic of gossip. Orca seemed to be involved in a new love triangle every week. All the ladies loved him! Lunita had a comical telenovela-type romance with him, where they’d have a spat and then be seen snuggling with each other later on. Bebe was warm, sweet, and snuggly with Orca. But first on Orca’s heart was sweet Poppy who, like a carpet of her namesake flowers swaying beneath the Californian sun, amazed him. They were quite the item when he arrived in the Annex, and the only thing that separated them was Poppy’s passing when her feline leukemia sprouted cancer within her.
But, as always, despite hardship…Orca pressed on. He continued to spread love wherever he went, the first to welcome newcomers even to his own detriment occasionally. Most recently, Orca very sweetly jumped into our newbie Franklin’s condo. He hopped into it with the energy of an overexcited younger sibling, and when Franklin didn’t appreciate Orca’s bold and presumptive approach, Orca was shocked! To Orca, I think, he assumed friendship with all. Well, except maybe with Lottie. But we love a King who respects boundaries! And she has…every boundary you could fathom.
But even more than Orca loved the other cats (which was an awful lot to begin with), Orca loved people. Even on days when Orca struggled with pain from stomatitis, the sound of a familiar voice was enough to have him stretching in his favorite nap spot to warm up before he trotted over to you, his feather duster tail swaying.
When he first arrived, we discovered that he liked what we called “uppies.” He’d stretch out on your leg, giving you the cutest expectant look, and wait for you to lift him up into the air. He wanted to be carried around like a baby, and was even known to let you kiss his little forehead while you did. This evolved over time, naturally. What started as a stretch on your leg turned into him sitting by your feet with that same expectant look, which morphed into him never asking at all and instead assuming a rub against your leg meant it was uppies time.
If you didn’t indulge him, he’d let out his quiet half-cry. It was like, if a scream was somehow also a whisper and also a sound that came from a cat. Usually applicable in situations where he OBVIOUSLY wanted you to do a part of your routine with him, but you weren’t for some reason or another. What’s funniest is Orca’s love of uppies spread to many other cats in the room, and soon we had every tough previously-titled street cat asking to be carried around like a little baby in that room. He was a trendsetter.
He may have loved belly rubs even more than being carried, though. He was known to accidentally roll off of high surfaces in his attempts to get people to rub his belly. He’d roll over onto his back, and if you didn’t respond immediately, he’d sometimes try to roll again, as if newly presenting his tummy was the secret ingredient of acquiring belly rubs. Sometimes that second or third roll sent him off the edge of something, but Orca would bounce back up like he didn’t have any bones and keep on truckin’.
He was the noodliest, most pliant cat. He was a source of endless amusement, awe, and boundless love. We often fawned over his chubby cheeks, and when those shrunk because of his neutering, somehow his hair just fluffed out more on his cheeks to replace them. He had the sweetest face, a little stripe of white on his chin that reminded us of Padme’s iconic bottom lip look in The Phantom Menace. Even his whiskers were goofy, somehow, because they were in constant disagreement about which direction they should be pointing in.
And, oh, we loved every little thing about him. The reality of loving a feline leukemia cat, the reality that we know all too well, sometimes means your time with them is cut short. We knew Orca hadn’t been feeling like himself for a while, and he had extensive testing that gave us nothing conclusive at the time. Naturally, Orca thought ultrasounds were the very cool cousin of the belly rub and was the greatest patient for them. Still, we had that feeling that we often have with these felvies, a suspicion that feline leukemia was preparing to strike.
But we focused on what we could control. We made sure we treasured every day we had with Orca. We made sure he was happy and comfortable. After removing some problem teeth that were causing him pain, Orca had been the happiest he’d been in months. He was vocal, he was social, eating. He was shining the brightest he ever had, a cat that never knew the potential of a home finally resting in the comfort and promise of forever.
We only wish it were forever.
When we love these cats, we do it with our hearts on our sleeves. We do it knowing they could have forever, or they could only have tomorrow. We do it knowing our hearts could be broken, and knowing we’d choose that pain all over again for one more forehead kiss, for another round of “uppies,” to hear that cute little iconic Orca scream for attention, just one more time. As Corrine Bailey Rae once sang, we’d “Do It All Again” in a heartbeat. And we will, for all these feline leukemia cats that may only have this moment even though they deserve forever.
Orca went to sleep only having that moment, but it didn’t matter that he’d only had that moment, because he’d lived a thousand lives in every moment. Orca was fueled by joy, and he took that with him wherever he went. His sudden passing doesn’t cheapen his life or its impact. What he’s defined by is the choice he made every day to be happy, to make us smile, to let love in and to give it back in spades. We, as human beings, could learn so much from animals if we’d only listen.
Orca will live on in the stories we tell. His memory will cross generations, because he was so incredibly loved that so many of us at this sanctuary have an Orca story to tell. He will live on in the laughter he inspired, in the love he fostered, in the many, many hearts he touched just by being himself. We will never forget you, Orca.
Orca loved to be picked up, and he couldn’t possibly reach higher heights than he’s reached now, carried on a cloud and delivered to the vivid steps of the rainbow bridge. Across the bridge, Poppy, Lunita, and Bo wait for him. It’s easy enough to imagine the clumsy steps he’ll take to meet them, the silly little gallop we’re sure they’ve missed. And how surprising would it be for him to look up and see the woman who’d promised to give him forever, who can give it to him now.
Thank you to his sponsors, Nancy T and Melissa N. Thank you to the amazing volunteers who were just as entranced by this silly little creature as we were. Thank you to the staff who cared for him so diligently, who hoped for him despite the odds stacked against him, and who made every day special. Thank you to anyone who ever laughed at his silly little antics and thought to themselves, what a special cat. He was the most special.
We love you, Orca. We always will.
Orca had 2 Sponsors
Nancy Telle
Melissa Nachbaur