On Cats, Corpses and Community Care: Amber Lucia Chabus at The Yellow Room by Luisa Lynch

The Yellow Room: Amber Lucia Chabus

The Yellow Room (@theyellowroomdc)

May 29th, 2026

Amber Lucia Chabus (@amberlucia96)

By Luisa Lynch (@luisalynch)

Cover Photo by Blythe. (@akblythe)

There are few people I know personally who could effectively pull off creating not one, but two professional dance pieces about a very specific animal while making it funny, tasteful, and only a little bit weird. The interesting thing is, both of these pieces could not be more different from each other. The first one: a show about matrilineal connection and healing using a Puerto Rican saying, accompanied by imagery and movement inspired by the island’s frogs. The second: a show processing, comprehending and accepting that death is an inevitable part of life through exploration of a pet parent’s love of their furry friend — specifically, a cat. This artist, is Amber Lucia Chabus. 

“When my cat dies, I don’t die too” is Amber’s current project that she has been working on through the Dance Place Double Jump Fellowship, with excerpts that have already premiered at DC Dance Festival and The Yellow Room. The full evening length work will premiere in June of 2027 at Dance Place. I only got to see the excerpt at The Yellow Room in person, but Amber graciously sent me a video copy of the DCDF excerpt for context of what she’s put together so far. The two excerpts show opposite ends of the spectrum of what a loving, meaningful relationship can look like. 

“So, what exactly is this piece about?” I asked Amber in the pre-show phone call that Thursday afternoon. 

“It’s actually not just about cats,” Amber said. “It’s also about anticipating grief, getting older, and family. Understanding that death is everywhere, but loving deeply despite it all. Acknowledging the duality of that. But I’m more comfortable thinking about the cat side of it all — it’s easier to talk about the cat-esque things.”

Amber disclosed that she has more experience with pet loss than family and/or friend death. Her childhood cat died when she was 17, and when she reflects on her life thus far, she feels that loss had the biggest impact on her. She shared that she always had cats growing up, and is now the cat mom to her black cat, Donut. 

“What does it mean to have a companion in the form of a pet?” is a question that Amber continuously comes back to in her process of “When my cat dies”. She highlighted that being a pet owner involves building bonds and rituals of care, which those who have had a pet understand is no small feat. In that, as she explored in her Yellow Room excerpt, there is immense fulfillment and joy. 

“You can definitely expect to see the sillier side of what this piece will be,” Amber told me over the phone. “The DCDF excerpt wasn’t totally silly. While there was some humor, it was very serious and the environment felt very sullen. So I’m excited to be humorous.”

What ensued that evening was an amalgamation of cat-like behavior from dancers, cat toys and props, and cat-like treats that were edible for humans. There was even a special guest cat who partook in a “churu race” — a competition to see who would eat the slurpy cat treat fastest: Amber (her human churu was a Go-Gurt) and Percy, Emily Ames & her girlfriend Jenna Voris’s orange cat (sound familiar? I also reviewed Emily’s show at The Yellow Room in February!) Spoiler alert: Percy the cat won. 

Now, admittedly, I am not really a cat person… or at least not Amber level of cat person. I much prefer dogs and have childhood memories of being bitten by my cousins’ cats as a kid (I was definitely irritating them and deserved those boundary bites). But in recent years, I have met cats who have broken cat stereotypes by being cuddly and affectionate to the point where despite my allergies I had to cuddle up with them on a couch. I can understand cat obsessions because I certainly have my own form of dog obsessions. And I know what it’s like to go through loss, whether of a beloved pet or family members. 

In her rehearsals, Amber would often facilitate discussions that involved questions about feelings on death. What came forward alongside hard feelings around grief also had to do with humor in coping with the intensity of it all, which is certainly what the Yellow Room excerpt did. One dancer (and none other than my artistic collaborator), Jadyn Brick, recounted a family experience about halfway through the piece in a dramatic and ghost story-like way about their aunt and grandmother coping with the loss of their grandfather, Larry, by dressing up a skeleton prop in his clothes and keeping him in the attic. Larry even had a picture of himself hanging up on the wall that I didn’t even notice until I was leaving the venue. There were so many cat and grief references throughout the night that if you blinked, you would miss it. 

As I approached the venue, I heard James Taylor’s song “Fire and Rain” playing from the open windows of a performance living room, full of dancers and audience members putting together a pink cat tower that would later be up for sale as a fundraiser to support the work. It was a warm, late spring evening that was still light out at 7pm with a serenity that only a Friday night can bring. I was greeted by venue director Blythe with my ticket (a yellow queen of spades card — how relevant to receive as a spade is The Yellow Room’s logo, and Queen appeared in the music credits later) and unexpectedly, a petition to reinstate the artistic director of Dance Place from a firing that had happened only hours before (click here to read more and sign the petition AFTER reading about Amber’s work! Dance Place needs an artistic director in order to support work like hers!) This onslaught of sensory experiences actually primed me very well for the evening — I was able to channel the peace, excitement, rage, sadness, disappointment and curiosity into experiencing the community joy that Amber cultivated. The pre-show playlist had a variety of songs about cats or death, that were all equally helpful in setting the tone of the space as both silly and serious. As Amber mentioned there would be on our call, there were human cat treats including “wet food” (tuna dip) miso biscuits (in reference of when cats “make biscuits” — look it up, it’s really cute) and as I mentioned before, human Churus aka Go-Gurts, all of which I filled up on before the piece started outside on the front porch. 

I got to experience the beginning excerpt from the inside of the house and look out the window to watch the performers dance, which was a pleasant surprise as I have a particular love for site-specific work. Funnily enough, Jadyn, acting like a cat in a window sill, sat right in front of me and made all sorts of cat-like faces, movements and noises. They maintained such a convincing cat-like character throughout the entire 30 minute work that both folks sitting next to me (shoutout Lauren DeVera and Liz Barton) said to me on two separate occasions “Jadyn is such a good cat”, leading to jokes the rest of the night that Jadyn is actually a cat performing as a human at all times, and that we got to see their truest self through this work (just wait until their cat interview comes out… we like to commit to the bit). 

Cat actions throughout the night from all dancers included sitting in trees outside, looking into windows with intense eyes, baring teeth, tapping into whimsical energy, meowing, nose boops, running and racing each other, going after laser toys, retching up hairballs, sitting on audience laps, drinking water from bowls and of course, slurping up churus. Any cat action you can think of, Amber and friends performed them. However, if you can think of anything else, Amber will want to know, so consider getting in touch with her. But what really struck me at the beginning of the piece is how Amber danced side to side, in the distance in front of the house. She moved in a way that reminded me of a ticking clock, counting down the minutes as life passes by. 

When I think of cats existentially, I think of the idea of having nine lives. Cats are agile, and able to withstand immense changes in their environment and adapt accordingly. Naturally, the idea of nine lives came to my mind the most when Amber and friends were performing sporadically with unexpected vigor in their limbs, as well as interacting with each other in close proximity. A particular excerpt I observed with this idea in mind is what I mapped out as a cat gossip session turned cat orchestra performance, ending with a warmup for the nine lives cat race. There was something about not only the physicality of moving through the Yellow Room space quickly with cat-like energy that reminded me of nine lives — it was also the community aspect of gathering and practicing rituals, perhaps even before a performance. With this in mind, an important note that Amber and I will continue to unpack together as she continues her research, that we discovered in our phone call, is cultural grief practice. Amber being Puerto Rican and myself being Filipina, we started talking more about the grief rituals both of our cultures practice during the death of a loved one. In the Philippines, when someone passes, a novena is practiced — nine nights of Catholic mass in prayer for the person who died. Puerto Rico has a similar history and culture to that of the Philippines, and Amber hopes to learn more about specific Puerto Rican grief practices from her mom. 

In grief, there is an importance of gathering when the death of a loved one happens. Whether it’s a funeral, celebration of life, novena or all of the above, these gatherings bring together community to support each other during times of intense hardship. Amber cultivates community care in her work always, but especially in “When my cat dies, I don’t die too” by bringing her dancers together to face one of the hardest truths of life: death. Grief is the one thing all humans have in common. So perhaps instead of isolating ourselves during hardship, we can take after Amber and friends by facing death head on with acceptance and peace, even some humor to cope with the hardest parts. Maybe have a Churu too.

Written by Luisa Lynch for Dancing in the District

Luisa Lynch (she/they) (@luisalynch) is a queer, mixed-race dance artist and educator based in Washington, D.C. In her work, practice, and life, Luisa reimagines dance through reclamation of the body, and aims to highlight intersectionalities of all identities and selves! You can read more about Luisa on our STAFF page!