Creatures, coffee, and connection

Not a fanatic, but I also started a coffee running club. Maybe I’m just in denial?

I’m not a coffee fanatic.

I like it, sure—but I’m one of those strange birds caffeine doesn’t really touch. Still, I know what coffee is: it’s ritual, it’s rhythm, it’s something we reach for to slow down or wake up, to meet a friend or make a plan.

And sometimes, it’s the only reason we stop long enough to connect.

The idea came in sideways. Years ago, after visiting some of those cat cafés overseas—the charming kind with sleepy felines sprawled across bookshelves—I found myself daydreaming about one of my own. But as the idea matured, I realized: cat cafés aren’t always as inclusive as they seem.

Many folks (myself included) have loved ones with cat allergies. Dogs? Lovely creatures, but not everyone's cup of tea. Some people are overwhelmed by barking or movement. Some don’t want a dog in their lap while sipping tea and trying to read.

So, the dream shifted.

What if it wasn’t a cat café? What if it wasn’t even a café in the traditional sense?

What if it moved?

Imagine a small, thoughtfully designed coffee truck—minimalist, beautiful, grounded. You stop for your espresso or iced matcha, and beside it is a series of curated little tents or pop-up enclosures. Step inside one, and you’re greeted by something unexpected: a rescued rabbit, a sweet-tempered snake, a handful of chirping finches, or a lizard basking under a heat lamp.

You sip. You meet. You slow down.

And maybe—you connect.

Because here's the thing: experiences matter. People love their coffee. But what we crave just as deeply—especially now—is wonder. Delight. A quiet moment with something living and real.

Most animal adoption efforts focus (understandably) on dogs and cats. But there are so many small, deeply dedicated rescues for other kinds of creatures—bunnies, reptiles, birds—doing vital work in near-obscurity. Many people would love to adopt these animals but don’t even know they exist, or where to find them.

By creating a mobile space, we meet people where they are. We make it easy, joyful, and gentle. One weekend we’re at a summer festival with heat-loving pups and bearded dragons. The next, it’s springtime and we bring out the baby bunnies and kittens. On Earth Day? A special focus on pollinators and misunderstood animals—snakes, birds, and spiders, maybe, if we can get the right support.

The logistics are more manageable than a full brick-and-mortar. No permanent space. Lower entry costs. Easier to adapt, easier to test. It doesn’t have to be grand—it just has to be real.

Of course, it’ll take a network. And after nearly a decade of bouncing between countries, states, and cities, I’m only just beginning to grow roots again. But the Piedmont Triad feels ready. The energy here is real—new businesses, new ideas, new gatherings blooming every week.

It’s not a question of if this happens, only when. I may still be early in the dreaming, still saving and scheming, still looking for the right shelter partners and coffee equipment—but the vision is already pulling me forward.

Because community doesn’t need four walls. It just needs heart.
And sometimes, a cup of coffee.
And maybe a curious little creature looking up at you, waiting to be seen.

P.S. If you know of any used coffee equipment or food trucks in the pediment triad (or a reasonable driving distance) please let me know.