If you live long enough, you will get a little burnt.
But if you live sweet enough, you won’t need to fudge the details.
If Brownie was a brownie, he would not be the airy, cakey kind. He would use real butter, with a ribbon of Nutella for good measure. The cocoa would be the good stuff, from Switzerland. There would be raspberries, edible glitter, and macadamias the size of marbles.
Brownie’s devotion is dense, even decadent.
All his chips are on the table. If he loves you, he will tell you. If you did not hear him the first time, he will say it louder, in the language of head-bonks and marshmallow purrs.
If you think you can resist him, you are incorrect.
If you are looking for me, I will be in the Community Room, with a rumbling ripple of a Brownie melted in my lap.
At age thirteen, Brownie is not holding anything back. He is going to give you all the sweetness in his cupboard.
The pilot light in his eyes is always on, expecting the best. Brownie will rub you and trust you down to his last crumb, even if this is the first time you’ve met.
All that gooey optimism worries some bakers.
Doesn’t Brownie know that love is the hot stovetop that always leaves a mark? It may be a chocolate kiss, or it may be a scar, but there is no way to know in advance.
Careful bakers wear mitts. Life can’t burn you if you take small bites.
Brownie has lived long enough to know all of that. There are miles of rocky road behind him. He was scorched by a diabetes diagnosis and sliced from his people.
He is not a novice. He knows what he is doing.
And what Brownie is doing, is eating dessert first. Also last. And everyone knows, the middle is the best part.
Brownie is not waiting to be served sweetness. This time around, he is the head chef. He is feeding everyone his trust. He knows that every living creature is hungry, but most of us hide it.
He has lived long enough to know that tomorrow is still just a pile of ingredients, so he should not leave behind one crumb of today.
His days have not all been truffles, but he has never gone without daily bread.
Yes, Brownie was returned by his adopter. Things happen. Souffles fall. It is not our place to judge. What matters is that Brownie returned to Tabby’s Place.
And every morning, Brownie returns to the hunch that he will never go hungry.
Every time he gives life everything he’s got, he gets a double portion.
The only way to return the favor is to love unafraid.
Everyone is a little burnt around the edges. One chocolate cat will savor us just the way we are.
Is it “difficult” to get adopted, when you are thirteen and diabetic? That’s what you’ll find printed in the cookbook.
But we have never followed a recipe at Tabby’s Place.
A pinch of “stubborn” and a dollop of “miracle” go a long way.
We believe Brownie’s day will come. But, wiser than us, Brownie knows it is already here.
We are all at this table together, the surly and the sweet. We have crumbs on our chins, and burns where hugs were not returned.
But we have the chance to love, as though love will always return.
And we have a mentor with a milk-chocolate heart.