Every cat at Tabby’s Place is fervently favored.
One was Farvently Farvored.
No, Officer, I have not been drinking while blogging.
Well, no, I can’t exactly walk a straight line. But I can explain.
All I have drunk today is Diet Cokes. Yes, four of them, but that is irrelevant.
I won’t deny that I am intoxicated. Go spend five minutes under the influence of Farva and see if you remain sober.
Actually, you can’t spend any minutes under the influence of Farva. This is getting confusing. Stay with me.
Not long ago, we feared Farva’s minutes were fleeting. Death is always a thief, but its crimes are most flagrant in the case of such capital-L Life.
Although he is roughly the size of an eclair, Farva is overstuffed with life. He is a pinwheel with a heart of pudding. He does not resent his ruptured eye, or his lonely stray days.
He does not repent of raising repeated ruckuses, and teaching others to do the same.
He is too enthusiastic to be anything other than innocent. He is too fervent to be anything other than everyone’s favorite.
Or at least, he was.
We scheduled surgery to remove Farva’s unfriendly left eye. Little did we know this was the least of his concerns.
As far as Farva was concerned, he had zero concerns. He was not worried that kittens who came at the same time were already adopted. If something good happens to you, Farva is genuinely happy for you.
He was not worried that it was winter. If there is even a rumor of sunshine, Farva’s day is made.
He was not even worried that the Community Room cats had a range of responses to his ruckuses. When you are this fervent, you do not conduct focus groups. You expect the best.
After all, “Farva” means “wise one” in Persian. The wisest creature is always an enthusiast. Life can’t help but favor the fervent.
But then, the seizures started.
Seizures upon seizures upon seizures.
Our sage was under siege from within. Thunderstorms roared across Farva’s brain. His little blackbird body betrayed him. Farva’s future covered its eyes when the one-eyed kitten convulsed.
Our eyes flooded with tears.
But there is wisdom in tears, as long as they catch fire.
Our fervor for Farva dried our eyes and dialed Dr. Fantastic. You will recall that this is our shorthand for all the angels disguised as specialty veterinarians. Dr. Fantastic is a composite character, but these are real people. They are our cats’ strength. They are our heroes. They are life.
They are expensive.
There is wisdom in love, but no Excel spreadsheet. Farva was a Tabby’s Place cat, which means he was cherished. Ferociously cherished.
When his life hung in the balance, he rested in the hammock of the Tabby’s Place promise: Take courage, love. You will have everything you need, regardless of cost.
There is wisdom in “regardless,” one of the most fervent words on earth.
But “regardless” comes at a high price when it rushes to the emergency vet. Farva would need an MRI and intensive care. Farva would need to get on a first-name basis with the neurologist.
Farva would need for you to have been fervent in 2023.
Yes, I said 2023.
I am neither inebriated nor in possession of a time machine.
If Farva was going to have hope in 2024, he would need to be able to turn his golden eye over his shoulder to this time last year. That was when you gave to the Linda Fund, our reserve for fading cats who deserve to be favored cats.
That was when you quietly rewrote the future for cats who “should” not have a chance.
You gave. Farva met Dr. Fantastic. The past met the future.
The one-eyed cat saw the panorama of love.
There is wisdom in stubbornness, and Farva became the latest cat to annihilate all expectations.
With his seizures under control, he took control of the Tabby’s Place lobby. The blackbird from the forest led the rhinoceros from Beirut (that’s Hips), the Queen from Rhode Island (Prescott), and the twins from outer space (Waffle and Chickadee, of course), in a galloping rumpus not seen since the world’s first dawn.
None of them “should” be here. All of them seemed to know. The only way to repay life is with enthusiasm.
The only thing better than the lobby would be adoption.
Really, there is not a flask in my cardigan. OK, there is, but it’s full of Diet Coke. I know. It is preposterous to propose that a one-eyed cat with a delicate seizure disorder should get adopted, even if he is pure, carbonated innocence.
I know “adoptable” is not the first word to spring to sober brains when Farva comes into view.
But you know — I know you know — that the highest wisdom is always just beyond our view.
You know where this is going.
Today, Farva’s one perfect eye is winking at past and future. His faith in life made him life’s favorite, even when the storms came.
Your 2023 faith in our cats gave him a chance.
His AwesomeAdopter made him her favorite. (She is our favorite.)
Is it just me, or do you get weak in the knees picturing the 2025 cats whose road you’re paving today?
Of course I can’t walk a straight line. I am trying to keep up with miracles, and they frolic.
May we keep one eye on all the cats we have yet to love.
Photos courtesy of Farva’s matchless AwesomeAdopter, who calls him — are you ready for the most perfect new name ever? — Fury.