Help John Rebuild After Fire Took His Home and Beloved Cats

On July 23rd, the unthinkable happened.

While John was out for the morning, his apartment was engulfed in flames in under 30 minutes. He lost everything—his home, his belongings, and most heartbreakingly, his beloved cats, Fanny and Xena.

The loss is indescribable. Firefighters did their best to salvage the urn containing his mother’s ashes from the kitchen, where the fire began. Irreplaceable keepsakes from her—items that had brought him comfort after her untimely passing two years ago—are now gone. But the most devastating loss of all was Fanny and Xena.

These weren’t just pets—they were his family, his joy, his daily comfort in the wake of his mother’s death. Since that terrible day, one phrase has echoed again and again:
“It would all be okay if the cats had made it.”

If you’ve ever experienced deep loss while caring for pets, you know—they become the thing that gets you out of bed. They offer a steady, unconditional love when everything else feels too heavy. That’s exactly what they were for John. Their bond was extraordinary, especially as he navigated the grief of losing his mom. His love for them wasn’t just deep—it was healing.

He wasn’t just a pet parent—he was wholeheartedly devoted. Anyone who knows him knows that. Xena was originally named Mr. Arnstein, after John's favorite movie Funny Girl (he was told she was a boy), but she was later renamed for another of John’s favorite icons—Xena the Warrior Princess. She was a tiny, black-and-white ball of energy who never lost her kitten-like curiosity. Fanny, named after Fanny Brice of Funny Girl, was a big, black-and-grey fluffy cuddlebug who had to have been part Maine Coon. She followed John into the shower and loved nothing more than snuggling up close.

Anytime one of them acted the slightest bit off, John would call: “Are your cats acting crazy too?”—half-joking, half-genuinely concerned they were sensing an impending earthquake. Just recently, he panicked over a single wheeze, ready to drop everything and rush to the vet. When you’re a pet parent, you love them so fiercely that every small change feels urgent. You live with the quiet fear that something could go wrong—and now, for John, it has. His girls, who he loved with his whole heart, are gone.

John is always the first to show up for others. He’s a constant source of support to his friends and his online community. And if you haven’t had the chance to meet John offline, just know: he’s even better in person. (I know—how is that possible? He’s already so charismatic and funny.) But to know John is to love him.

He’s self-employed and works tirelessly to keep the Golden Age of Hollywood alive—sharing stories of the stars your Mom or Grandma adored, keeping their memory alive for a new generation, and bringing humor, history, and heart to so many. He would never ask for help himself. So I’m asking for him.

Let’s circle the wagons. Let’s show up for John the way he has shown up for so many of us. Let’s make sure he feels surrounded by love in the wake of this unimaginable loss.

He’s grieving the unthinkable while trying to figure out how to start over—replacing every basic necessity, every tool of his trade, while mourning the irreplaceable sentimental things and most of all his cats.

I visited the apartment after the fire. The roof had collapsed—you could literally see the sky. Anything not destroyed by flames was coated in asbestos. It looked like a plane had crashed through his ceiling. The devastation was complete.

If John has ever made you laugh online, helped you rediscover a favorite old Hollywood star, brought you along on one of his grave tours (in person or virtually), or simply been a kind, familiar presence when you needed it—please consider donating or sharing. He needs his people now more than ever so he can grieve, heal, and begin again—without carrying the unbearable weight of starting over alone.

Thank you for reading. And thank you for sharing.