Goodbye and thank you, Ella
This story doesn’t end well.
In 2023, my cousin Fifi and her husband Ron opened Fat Cat, their cocktail bar in Makati Cinema Square. They named the bar after their fat cats at home and also the fat cats of jazz but soon realized that there were a lot of stray cats hanging around the area as well, although few of them were fat.
One of those cats, a black and white chunky boy, came around so often that they started putting out food for him. They called him Miles, after jazz great Miles Davis.
One day, as Fat Cat’s head bartender Vernie was opening the bar, another cat came streaking past. She was a calico—a tri-color cat with a big patch of black fur on her face. Vernie shook the jar of cat food to get her attention. “Gusto mo food?”
The cat stopped. She watched Vernie pour food into the bowl. She was hesitant, wary—but hunger won. She approached slowly, and then she devoured the food. She was scrawny, so scrawny.
The next day, the cat returned around the same time. Vernie fed her again. The day after, she was back. And the day after that. And the day after.
A cat walked into a bar... and ended up winning hearts.
They called her Ella, after Ella Fitzgerald, one of the artists whose vinyl records they often played at the bar.
For a while, it was like she and Miles had shifts—Ella would hang around outside Fat Cat in the afternoons and Miles would take over in the evenings.
Staking her claim
Eventually, she would stake her claim—the area outside Fat Cat was her territory, making it clear to Miles with a swat to the head. Miles stopped coming around after that, choosing instead to spend his time in Makati Cinema Square’s basement parking.
Ron and Fifi decided to have Miles and Ella neutered and spayed—a common practice among people who care for stray cats. Miles was easy to coax into a carrier. Ella, on the other hand, was far more elusive and required a great deal of wrangling.
“We didn’t think she’d come back after that,” Ron said.
But she did. Ella had found a safe space. Her food and water bowls waited by the steps that led to Fat Cat, always kept full. Eventually, she also got a bed.
Ella the scrawny cat became Ella the fat cat. She had grown so plump that people kept asking if she was pregnant.
Ella, a true girl of the streets, came and went as she pleased. At times, she would appear with fresh wounds on her body, as if she had just been in fights with other cats.
It became increasingly clear, however, that she was growing more and more comfortable at Fat Cat. She ventured upstairs and began spending hours napping in her little bed by the entrance, a sight that made countless customers coo. She had, in her own way, found a home.
Wooing Ella
I don’t remember the first time I met Ella. Maybe it was back when I was still going to Fat Cat as a customer. Maybe it was when we opened our new bars Cattery and El Gato, both just steps away from Fat Cat.
What I remember is my intense need to win her over, something she wasn’t willing to give me so easily.
There are cats who would start rubbing against any person they see, cats who want to be pet even by strangers. That’s not Ella.
Ella was feisty. Moody. She was kind of a diva. You had to earn her trust. You couldn’t just start touching her—she’d show her displeasure with a swat of her paw or the occasional light scratch.
“Niligawan ko talaga siya,” said Vernie, who became so close to Ella that she could pick her up and cuddle her. They bonded every single day, with Vernie staying after shift just to hang out with Ella. From El Gato’s second-floor windows, I would often look down and see them outside Fat Cat, with Ella contentedly curled in Vernie’s lap.
Tala, a bartender at Fat Cat and another favorite of Ella, also spent a year wooing her—proof of just how selective Ella could be.
Ella taught me patience and restraint. I used to want to touch her every time I saw her, but I learned to hold back and just say, “Hi, girl!” Hearing her meow back felt like a win. I have so many photos of her looking annoyed at me, but over time (and I mean many months) she slowly warmed up—rubbing against my legs and allowing me to stroke her without protest.
What’s funny is she didn’t let me pet her when Vernie was around—almost like she didn’t want Vern to get jealous.
Because of the cat-themed names of the bars, many customers come asking if we have a resident cat. We’d tell them, “Have you seen Ella? She’s the queen of our bars.”
Somehow, she knew that she had to be nice and gentle with the customers. She never scratched any of them. The staff, though, was another story. Even Vernie, her favorite, has fallen victim to her claws.
But customers? She greeted them, sat with them, and even let them pet her.
Ella was a total badass. And we all adored her.
I was looking forward to the time she’d finally allow me to pick her up. But that never happened.
Troubling message
A few weeks ago, in the wee hours of Sunday, I got a troubling message from Vernie. “Ma’am Pam, dito kami sa vet. Sinugod namin si Ella. Nabangga ata. ‘Di na makalakad.”
Vernie had just finished closing Fat Cat for the night and was surprised to find that Ella wasn’t waiting for her. Worried, she searched everywhere until she finally found Ella hiding under a tree near McDonald’s, wet from the rain, weak, and unable to stand.
She sprang into action, enlisting the help of Mario, Fat Cat’s newest bartender. They gently secured Ella in a box before speeding off to the vet on his motorcycle.
Vernie would end up taking Ella to three different animal hospitals. Her hip and tail fractures were so severe that most places did not think they were equipped to treat her. The doctors believed Ella was a victim of a hit-and-run.
Ella was placed on antibiotics and IV fluids while she waited for surgery. The next days were a blur of hospital visits, updates and anxious waiting.
So many of us came to see Ella that the people at the animal hospital remarked, “Ang daming nagmamahal kay Ella.”
It’s true—and Ella was so loved that bar regulars started pooling money to help with her hospital bills.
Vernie and Tala had been warned by the hospital—Ella’s bills would pile up. “Baka abutin daw ng P100,000,” Vernie said. “Last option daw po is euthanasia.”
I shuddered at the word. That was out of the question. We didn’t even need to discuss it — of course Ella was going to get the best care possible. Vernie and Tala began discussing who would bring Ella home after she was discharged, as she needed a safe place to recover away from the streets.
Surgery
On the day of the surgery, we were filled with hope. Ella had started eating again the previous night. She seemed stronger.
The surgery took hours. As we had been warned, her tail had to be removed. The hospital later updated Vernie and Tala that the procedure went well, and they were just waiting for Ella to wake up.
Fifi and Ron had just arrived from a trip to China and I was sitting with Fifi at the bar in El Gato when I glanced at my phone. I had a message from Vernie.
“Wala na si Ella.”
Ashen-faced, I turned to Fifi. “Ella died.”
She froze.
And then we both bolted out of the bar and speed-walked to the animal hospital in silence. There, we found Tala and Vernie crying in front of Ella’s incubator.
She looked so peaceful, like she was just sleeping, the same way she would look whenever she napped at Fat Cat. I knelt and stroked her fur, still in disbelief that it would be the last time I’d get to pet her.
The four of us stood there crying for a long time, unable to leave.
Grieving
Later, Fifi would post on Fat Cat’s Instagram page:
“Today we said goodbye to Ella. If you’ve spent any time at Fat Cat, chances are you’ve met her. She greeted guests, supervised the staff, claimed the best seats in the house, and reminded us daily that the bar was never really ours—it was hers.
“Ella wasn’t just a cat who lived around Fat Cat. She was part of the community that made this place feel like home. Thank you to everyone who gave her treats, gentle pats, kind words, and a place in your heart. We’ll miss seeing her waiting by the door, wandering through the room, and keeping watch over all of us. Good night, Ella. Thank you for choosing us.”
There were so many comments and shares, with customers and current and former staff also posting their own tributes.
Ella’s ashes were eventually brought home to Fat Cat, where she now rests—back in the place she had claimed as her own.
Ella’s absence feels enormous. We continue to miss her every day. It feels strange not seeing her around.
Just days after Ella died, Ron competed in a major bartending competition wearing a jacket designed by RR Pineda, with elbow patches and a button made to resemble Ella. Ella was still alive when RR created the jacket, but now, after what happened, it carries a deeper meaning.
Watching Ron compete, Vernie whispered, “Kasama niya si Ella,” and we found ourselves crying again. Ron went on to win Bartender of the Year.
Tala, who visited McDonald’s to see if we could get the CCTV footage of the hit-and-run, found out that the crew had their own name for Ella. They called her Balat—as in birthmark in Filipino—because of that dark patch on her face. They fed her, too, they said, and she came around a lot.
Now we wonder what other names people call her and how many other communities also think of her as theirs.
But to us, she will always be Ella.
Ruling the streets. Claiming her seat. Teaching us, without meaning to, how much space one small life can take up—and how much emptiness it can leave behind.
Maybe it was never really about who she belonged to.
She was never just ours. But we were hers.
