Note: The following post was written before Sweetie’s rapid decline and passing. But since his memory is a blessing, every word remains true. XO, AT
The question sounds reasonable.
“Did you know you were going to end up with a Sweetie and a Sweet Pea in the same suite?”
The answer to the question is a question. Actually, two.
“Is there something wrong with that?” Also: “Do we ever really know when something wonderful is about to happen?”
I suppose we could have “planned better.” Had we meditated on the issue, we might have more evenly distributed the Sweet-ness across Quinn’s Corner.
No respectable baker would clump all the confectioner’s sugar at one corner of the cookie. The people who supervise cereals make sure each flake is equally frosted.
But this is Tabby’s Place. We don’t claim to be respectable, and we are certainly not supervised.
That’s how you end up with a Sweetie and a Sweet Pea sharing a single suite. We did not plan this. The merriest things cannot be planned, only received.
Like names.
Think about it. Two cats, miles apart, both inspired names starting with “Sweet.”
These were not marshmallow kittens on a cake walk. These were anxious adults, salted with a sour diagnosis. The grey tabby was more solemn than saccharin. The brown tabby was no mushy nougat.
Some cats get the fondant flower at the corner of the cake, and some cats get crumbs.
Before they even had names, these boys had feline leukemia virus (FeLV). Some would call them “doomed.” Some would assume their diagnosis means exile from the land of milk and honey. No one plans to get FeLV.
But two different someones, in two different circumstances, called these survivors “Sweet.”
If you are feeling bitter about the world, think about this.
There are people out there, people a lot like you, who embrace “unreasonable” cats. They merrily pitch their plans for a stray. They call cats with feline leukemia virus “FeLVies,” a snuggly, caramelized word. It sounds playful, because it is.
The cats learn to play with expectations.
The cats grow into names like Sweetie and Sweet Pea.
And, if the universe is feeling playful, they may end up in the same suite at Tabby’s Place.
If you ask why we take cats with this unpredictable condition, you are asking the wrong question, and I will answer you with another. Actually, two. Did you meet Sweetie? And, have you met Sweet Pea?
Sweetie received his name the way a newborn receives his dad’s favorite hat. He vanished into it. It did not appear to fit.
But inside the fearful FeLVie was full-sized sweetness. The grey tabby was made of pure good. The name was correct. He loved with strength, and that takes time. He filled every letter of “S-w-e-e-t-i-e” with the story of his life.
Meanwhile, Sweet Pea does not mind if his name more commonly goes to female cats. Sweet Pea does not mind if a marching band meanders into Suite F and plays Led Zeppelin covers all afternoon. Sweet Pea does not mind if you tell him your dreams, dress him up like Abraham Lincoln, or sing the entire score of Evita for his pleasure.
Sweet Pea certainly does not mind being FeLV+, although he thinks “FeLVie” sounds pretty cute.
Sweet Pea knows he is pretty cute. Sweet Pea is the sweetest pea in the pod, or, actually, in the history of pods.
Sweet Pea and Sweetie shared a pod thanks to something bigger than coincidence and better than reason.
And at Tabby’s Place, there is a suite with your name on it, no matter where you have been. Love is the plan. The rest is a mystery.
Rest easy: the most wonderful things happen before we know what is going on.