Like summer snow, they made news.
Like love, they stepped softly.
Every stray cat deserves the Channel 4 chopper and the top of the 6:00 hour. The tabby with the crumpled ear should bump the report on the Senate vote or the spinach recall or Snoop Dogg’s new career selling cereal.
But the world does not know news from nonsense. Strays vanish between the sycamores.
Unless they are summer snow on twelve legs.
Three snow kittens had little hope of blending in. August in New Jersey is green lawns and golden dandelions, chili dogs and steamy days. In a Code Red heatwave, three white kittens have nowhere to hide.
They were breathtaking. Notice was taken. But they were needy, so there were no takers.
One was technically a teenager, mother to the smaller snowballs. Rumor had it she was both deaf and blind. Beauty may crack the door, but a broken heart hears the deadbolt spin. Or, in this case, the snow queen heard nothing at all.
At least, that’s what we heard she heard.
Some say we tell tall tales at Tabby’s Place, but I tell you that truth towers over the treeline. The snow queen was not deaf, only terrified. In the 24-hour news cycle, that may be even worse. Her David Bowie eyes — one green, one blue — were not blind, only bewildered. When first impressions count, this may give you a score of zero.
If life were one big beauty pageant, she would have been “highly adoptable.”
But life is as deep as the tundra, and little cat feet leave more lasting prints than prettiness.
Her senses shimmered like sunlight over her daughters. Her fear was large, but her kittens were her life. Even as she trembled, the snow queen burned with devotion. She had given one blue eyes, the other green. She would give them her strength and her spirit. She would give them earth’s final sardine.
Rumor has it that mother cats detach from their kittens once the babies are self-sufficient. Call it instinct, call it exhaustion, call it healthy boundaries or their “me era.” But the snow queen was not afraid of forever. The snow queen did not catch the news clip that she was no longer needed.
The snow queen covered her tweenage kittens in blizzards of affection. She nurtured them like newborns. She needed them like truth needs telling.
She needed us like fear needs mercy.
We named her Eira, Welsh for “snow.” Her daughters became Neige and Lumi (the French and Finnish versions).
Her daughters became the talk of Tabby’s Place, the center of sunny daydreams. “If I only had room for one more…!” hazy, humid voices swooned. The girls gave head-bonks and dropped like white diamonds into laps. The girls were headline news, polar princesses with hearth-warm hearts.
The snow queen was quiet, intense. Rumor had it: “Eira doesn’t like us.”
Rumors have no place at Tabby’s Place.
Eira sees her daughters delight in our love, and Eira ponders it in her heart. Glaciers crack. Grace has no expiration date.
Eira sees the world behind two pieces of sea glass. One is blue; one is green; some might say they are “mismatched.”
But we are used to saying this at Tabby’s Place: who can say?
Who can say where the wind comes from and where it goes, sending summer snow to center stage?
Who can say how many snow angels we’ll have to make outside Eira’s window, before she believes she walks in a wonderland?
Who can say how Eira will know it’s safe to be a kitten again?
Who can say how long before a heart fumbles for its lock?
Who can say anything but “thank you” for the fact that Eira is not only beautiful but true?
The news will choose you for your beauty. Love will follow your tracks all the way home, where the Big Story makes no headlines. Eira could have been shoveled into a hasty home. But the snow is deep. The heart is deep.
We will step softly into the Eira era, this time of slow tenderness. We will weather her fear and believe in her warmth. We will convince her that her season will never end.
Update: Little Neige has found her forever home, with Lumi surely not far behind. And shy, perfect Eira… darling girl, however long you need us, this is your era.