As I write this post, there is a ship the size of the Empire State Building clogging up the Suez Canal.

As I write this post, there is a cat the size of that ship clogging up our ability to function at Tabby’s Place.

By the time you read this post, one of those issues may be resolved. The second is beyond hope.

To know a Hoagie is to love a Hoagie is to be permanently, placidly, irrevocably incapacitated by a Hoagie’s hold on your humble human heart.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I’m optimistic that this will be resolved by the time you read it, but this very afternoon, the world is writhing in the weirdness of the Big Stuck Boat.

It’s called the Ever Given.
It weighs 200,000 metric tons. (This is approximately 2.8 million Jimmy Fallons.)
It got scared during a sandstorm, and now it can’t move, which means hundreds of lesser vessels can’t move, which means the whole world has to wait to get all the things to all the places where they belong.
It’s causing more trouble in the Suez than even Billy Joel ever sang about.

And here at Tabby’s Place, it feels remarkably…familiar.

If ever we were given a glut of glory, a creature whose size alone could sink and stun and splendorize a thousand ships, it was Hoagie.

The Hoag is Sumo-huge but unicorn-shy.
The Hoag is a heap of capricola with the heart of a (cowardly) lion.
The Hoag is happening to us, and we are stuck neck-deep in the special sauce of smittenness.

Ever since Hoagie hulked his way into Tabby’s Place, we have been a dozen dinky dinghies, pinned to our place and unable to function normally. How can we be expected to do our work, maintain decorum, behave like functional adults — in short, remain victorious — when a beast so big has jammed up our junction?

A point of clarification is in order. Yes: Hoagie is physically immense, north of 21 pounds at his immensest. But this is not the primary way in which our colossal captain is larger than a blue-ribbon hog.

Hoagie is humongous with life.

Naturally, we are incredulous that anyone could part with such a monument to meaty exuberance. But, as is too often the story, Hoagie was hurled overboard. I don’t know the details and I don’t like to judge, so I won’t.

But Hoagie’s tender heart was hurt by that sea-tossed history, and at times the hurt makes itself known. Sweet in his essence, shy in his shell, Hoagie can also deliver sharp surprises — chunks of cheddar when we know his soul is mild provolone. It’s OK. This is Tabby’s Place, so of course it’s OK. We’ll help him learn to sail over stress, conquer the high seas, and finally deliver one supermungous heart to one very, very fortunate adopter.

Maybe Hoagie’s not stuck, even if we are stuck on him. Surely Hoagie has hope larger than his larditude. And whatever latitude the Ever Given is sailing as you read this post, Hoagie’s learning he will be ever adored, ever accepted, ever given the grace and mercy that every living creature deserves.

Sail on, spectacular kittens.

Housekeeping note: Between my writing and your reading, Hoagie, utterly unsurprisingly, has been adopted. I write these posts a good bit in advance, so you will be entertained even if I am kidnapped by pirates, and sometimes things happen in the interim. But, the happening of things is happy business, so we shall enjoy them together.
XO, AH

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