Every face on Earth is a face you could love, given enough time.

But there are faces so kind, love outruns time.

Pixie was hand-painted with sun, like a soft pom-pom in a hundred hues of autumn. She had endured many falls by the time we met her. A siege of ear infections left her deaf, with a head tilt. Years outdoors had disheveled her calico coat.

But the patchwork cat had all her colors intact.

And when Pixie looked at you, you were face to face with love. All at once, every candle in your soul illuminated. You yearned to protect and to cherish this shy, kind cat. You felt as though you knew her. You felt as though she knew you.

Some tenderness is too great to explain.

It was not Pixie’s beauty that inspired adoration, though she was as plush as a chrysanthemum. It was not her history that collapsed time into a moment, though she had been brave.

It was not even her need that swallowed our hearts whole, though mercy awakes upon every arrival at Tabby’s Place.

It was Pixie’s face, the one behind her eyes.

I can’t tell you where biology ends and pixie dust begins. I can only say that kindness poured from one small calico like a great sugar shaker from heaven. It did not matter that we had only known Pixie a short time.

Time is a luxury, but love is a necessity.

Time does not hold the reins on the ride from first “hello” to forever love.

And time does not grow at the same rate as grief.

Our bond with Pixie may have been swift, but we savored the prospect of time. Now that she was a Tabby’s Place cat, we could settle into the leisure of loving her, learning her hobbies and her inside jokes.

We had begun with “happily ever after.” Now we could go back and live the fairy tale.

But the October-colored cat was already in late autumn.

Perhaps it was for the best that we had no idea Pixie’s first days with us were her final days. The kind little cat would not subject us to more sorrow than necessary. Just a few golden mornings into her life with us, she simply slipped away.

We are still reaching for her, yearning to pet that perfect pom-pom one last time.

Yet for all we lacked in time, we are not left empty. Pixie was ours, and we were hers. Her love continues.

We can’t predict the next face we will love without conditions or considerations. It is always best to just love them all from the first hour.

And in Pixie’s memory, that is exactly what we will do.

Thank you for being ours, baby girl. We will see your kind eyes every autumn.

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