Josh says that I am gorgeous, so I am allowed to be confused. He is half right. In the most flattering lighting, I look like a breadstick with bangs. But I am not about to argue with Josh.

Josh volunteers at the cat shelter every Monday and Wednesday. I have been the fundraiser here for eighteen years. I have met four thousand cats and two hundred fifty volunteers. Josh figured out how to get me silly.

On Monday mornings, Josh scrubs litter boxes and folds towels. At first, the retired women in the laundry room were not so sure that was a good idea. They traded theories about Josh. He was a handsome kid. Articulate. But something was off. He rides the community bus. He walks with a cane. There is that missing tooth.

Joan, who wears an apron that says All My Children Have Tails, had to shut this down. She told the retired women that Josh was sent, and she did not mean by the day program.

Josh told the retired women that he lives with autism. They can talk about it. He hopes they will get to a point where they can talk about everything. He hopes they will be real friends that way. Josh lives with autism. Everybody lives with something. That’s why Josh chose the cat shelter. If a cat has three legs or stinky poops, it’s okay to talk about it. Some people think the silly cats are the cutest cats. Did you ever notice that? They’ll say, “oh, I love Popcorn, she is so precious with her one eye,” or, “Weetabix has such a fat belly, I just want to hug him.”

For the first month Josh was with us, I smiled as I walked through the laundry room and told him I was glad to see him. I complimented his spinach-green sneakers. I kept walking. This had nothing to do with the fact that Josh lives with autism. I am scared of people under ordinary circumstances. I am always looking around for ordinary circumstances. That’s why I chose the cat shelter. I sprint through conversations like a feral fairy, throwing fistfuls of encouragement like kitty litter. Then I hide in my office and write press releases about love.

Josh followed me to my office to tell me about his sneakers. They are from his Dad. It wasn’t a birthday or a holiday. His Dad just saw them in Ross Dress for Less and said, “those are Josh sneakers.” They are silly. I told Josh that anyone wearing “Josh sneakers” was a person I wanted to be my friend. Josh said I was in luck.

If Josh were a cat, he would be Pebbles. She is seventeen years old. She came to the shelter because she has “advanced needs.” Pebbles’ kidneys are not so good. Josh watches the veterinary technician wheel an IV into the lobby and shimmy a needle under Pebbles’ fur. Josh wants to learn how to give “sub-q” fluids so someday he can adopt Pebbles. Pebbles doesn’t flinch. When it’s over, Josh dries Pebbles with a washcloth. She sits on his shoulder like a parakeet. Pebbles is silly.

Josh says that Joan told him cats know when we are trying to help. Josh hugs Joan so many times, she started coming in an hour early to make sure the laundry gets done. Josh knows not everyone is a hugger. The day program is teaching him to read the room.

Over eighteen years, I have learned to psych myself up for donors. Donors gasp when they walk through the door. Even if they heard that our cats are “cage free,” they did not imagine this. They laugh in disbelief. I become their Sugar Plum Fairy. I give a grand tour.

I love our donors. They want cats to be safe. They bring blankets and treats. They write the biggest numbers they can on checks with Bible verses, or Kermit the Frog. I want to talk to them about how this is all about cats and also not about cats. I want to ask them about the word “shelter” and ask them which cat they would be. I don’t want to scare them away.

Josh hugs our donors. I once saw him engulf a great-grandmother until all you could see was her powdered-sugar hair. She giggled so wildly, Josh’s cane rattled. She said Josh had better be careful, or she is going to run away with him. Josh suggested California and said she would just need to take care of the getaway car.

Josh’s favorite donors are Leo and Cara. They are in their eighties and met at the cheese factory. They worked there as teenagers. Josh says that is too silly to be made up. The cheese factory disposed of the whey in a ditch out front. People used to dump unwanted cats there, assuming they could survive off the river of cheese. Leo and Cara built little houses for the cats and wrote letters to the editor about compassion for animals. Josh asked if he could read those letters sometime. Cara said nobody ever asked that before. She still had them. Josh made copies so he could show his Dad.

Josh says that, if I was one of the cats, I would be Penelope. She is so soft. She makes room for other cats. All the cats lay on the same mat as Penelope, even the ones who don’t really like cats. I tell Josh that is flattering, but I’m no Penelope. He says I am wrong. I am always telling people they are beautiful. I notice things about people. Josh says they talk about me in the laundry room.

Sometimes Josh has royal blue fingernails. The cosmetology school comes to the day program to practice. Josh says that is too silly to pass up. His Dad doesn’t like it, but they’re Josh’s fingernails. Josh once stopped mid-sentence to grab my hand. It was the first time I ever saw him sad. He squeezed my fingers. They had no color. I told Josh I was sorry. I told him I had no idea what color to choose. I asked his advice. Josh did not speak until he was sure. Purple. He was right. Josh asked me to please take care of that before the end of April.

Josh asked if I ever read the book “All Cats Have Asperger’s.” He wants to get a copy for Joan, and one for Leo and Cara. Josh was amazed that I already had a copy. Some donor gave it to me. Did I live with autism too? Not that I know of, but we all live with something. Josh loves that book. Josh is writing a book about kindness. Every page will have a photograph of a shelter cat, and just a little bit of text, like in “All Cats Have Asperger’s.” Josh says most people can’t handle too many words at once. He will choose carefully.

One Monday, the lobby was teeming with donors, and I didn’t see Josh slip out. Pebbles was so overwhelmed by the activity, she ran down the hall into the bathroom, and Joan and I had to cajole her back out. Josh flew back in to tell Pebbles she was alright. I saw the bus pull up to the curb and told Josh his ride was here. I was wrong. It was a delivery truck. I apologized for getting confused. Josh said I’m allowed to be confused, because I’m gorgeous. Before I could argue, he kissed my hand and saw that my fingernails were purple.