I want to tell you about Tinker, though it may seem there is little to say.
I want to tell you about Tinker, though we could not disassemble death in time.
I want to tell you about Tinker, because every hair on his head mattered.
He was born in a common coat, one more brown tabby under the sun. No pedigree distinguished him. No bold markings commanded attention.
But Tinker was born, and that was all that was necessary to make him necessary.
This gruff, scruffy world had never seen the likes of him before. Tinker was irreplaceable upon arrival.
No headline reported his first meow, but his voice was heard. A thousand kittens may open their eyes for the first time before you reach the end of this sentence, but only one was ever Tinker.
As he took his fumbling first steps, he fiddled with the dial on the world. He raised the sum total of innocence in the universe.
The stars must have leaned in close to take a closer look, and the moon poured light on his path. Although his health was poor, the newborn had other riches.
Tinker was born in sight of love’s sleepless eye.
There were other cats in his colony, but the smallest was the center. A caregiver clasped Tinker to her heart. Facing her own terminal illness, she knew every hour mattered. Aflame with life at twilight, she rushed Tinker to aid.
I want to tinker with the story at this chapter, making a “Tabby’s Place miracle” out of twigs and pebbles. I want to boast that we disarmed grief and emptied its pockets. I want to report that Tinker is fat-bellied and impish, bunny-kicking catnip socks under that pennant we love to print: “FIP Survivor.”
But our hands are too small to command the winds, and Tinker gave his last breath in his first hour as a Tabby’s Place cat. Colin, Grace, Lisa, and Tiana worked with love’s valor. Their labors were not in vain.
I want to tell you about Tinker, because his life was a gift we will not forget.
He came from love and returns to love. The space between mattered.
When we meet again, there will be so much to tell, that no words will be necessary.
We may not see you, Tinker, but you are always with us. Nothing could ever make us stop loving you.
Tinker was cherished. Tinker was loved. Tinker IS love. Tinker’s life mattered.