You have heard all the warnings.
“Guard your heart.”
“Look before your leap.”
“Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.”
Parents and guardians tried to protect us. They stopped us from wandering into oncoming traffic. They made sure we got enough calcium.
They did their best to bubble-wrap our hearts.
But the only way to keep something fragile from breaking is to make sure it’s never touched.
The only way to stay safe is never to move.
So what happens when the moving van comes on four legs, and she takes you before you have time to tape up your box?
Lucy arrived with no itinerary or insurance, just a face that looked like home. She had cheeks like a teddy bear and eyes the color of Sunday morning pancakes.
She was the “stray” who came to move us.
She spent her intake exam imprinting her little nose on everyone’s hands.
She was as gentle as a moment you didn’t see coming, the one that changes your life without honking its horn.
She rushed into our hearts like a flock of glass angels.
And by the time the news broke, it was too late. It appeared as though Lucy had either cancer or kittens inside. Either way, we were all in. Already. We now lived in the House of Lucy.
Perhaps it would be wiser to take baby steps in love’s direction. Leave room for a U-turn if things go south. Keep your hands inside the vehicle until you know it won’t rain.
But it gets “too late” very early at Tabby’s Place.
Our hands had Lucy’s nose-prints all over them.
Love’s event is the long jump. It is the leap from “Cat #4,860” to “Lucy.” It takes mere minutes. It breaks you open. It touches the places that bruise easily. It calls you to do hard things.
It moves you to the only home on Earth that’s fit for fools and angels, because they are one and the same.
Sometimes, at Tabby’s Place, we look at each other and ask, “is there something wrong with us?”
Over the course of one day, we become so attached to a little molasses cat that we have to build new rooms in our souls for all the love she unpacked.
Yesterday, she was not even an idea. Today, she is as real as the noses on our own faces, and we would do anything for her.
Perhaps, we remember some ancient childhood home, older than our grandmothers and as humble as a brown tabby.
This home is not immune to earthquakes, and we need to glue each other’s wings and noses back on, over and over. There are confusing hallways and musty basements, and the only lantern in the dark is a cat’s trusting eyes.
But there is a firm foundation.
We can never move into the house of love “too soon,” even if we get broken in the shuffle.
So, whether the one we love has cancer, or she has kittens, she has us. It is too late. They don’t make big enough armor for a living heart. There is no dome over love’s house. That is good news for incoming angels.
And that is not the only good news.
Lucy did not have kittens.
Lucy did not have cancer.
Lucy had a cranky, common parasitic infection that stands no chance against angels and antibiotics.
In the foster home of angel Drew, Lucy made a full recovery. Now, the lush little lioness is the center of Suite D. She looks like a bemused feather boa among her fellow FIV+ cats.
When you first roll in, Lucy makes herself small. She studies your eyes, waiting to see if your heart is large enough to fit her, quirks and all. Yes. She softens in your presence. Yes. You are one of the brave ones, warm and spacious. Lucy lifts her happy heinie and rolls around with bliss … while hissing at you. When you tell her she is beautiful and brilliant, she responds, “I know, but even better, I am weird.”
Just keep talking. Lucy loves the hum and rumble of love’s full house. Her tufty ears tilt to take in all the sounds of the living. Speak and sing to her. Babble and yammer. Lucy is all ears, whether you are rambling about Harry Styles’ new album, the weather, or the first tabby you ever loved.
And she is all in, because love was too large to lock its doors.
Long live the House of Lucy.