When you have been the most loved, you have the most to give.

When you have been the best loved, you are the best one to love.

But when “loved” passes into past tense, you may feel like the last living creature on earth.

Petra had it all.

Clothed in the satin gleam of youth, she was a queen among kittens. Named for rock, she knew herself to be a diamond.

Living at Tabby’s Place, she believed every storybook was non-fiction. The purpose of persons was to love kittens, particularly Petra. Fleece was formed for the foremost duty of delight. Mythical creatures called “turkeys” might exist, but only so as to produce crisp star-shaped nuggets. Every living thing was smitten and kind.

Endings were always hurrying urgently towards “happy.”

This was true even when Petra got a pebble between her toes. She learned that other kittens had moods and free will of their own. Vet check-ups were inconvenient. Persons had places to be other than the kitten room, and kittens to pet other than Petra.

But the kitten shared her name with not just one rock, but an entire UN World Heritage site. Her birthright was expansive and ecstatic. Her heart’s occupancy limit was infinity. Her adoption was inevitable.

Her mama was majestic.

You should know by now that, at Tabby’s Place, we only release our cats to a species called AwesomeAdopters. If their love is not even better than Tabby’s Place itself, they cannot abscond with one of our children.

Happily for children of all ages, AwesomeAdopters abound. Good people surpass storybook endings every day of the week.

Yet even among AwesomeAdopters, Petra’s person was a jewel.

W. was a heart walking. W. had thousands of facets, and each one caught the light. W. loved without calculation. W. loved Petra as though she were all seven wonders of the world.

For seven wondrous years, W. and her grace-gift marveled at each other. Theirs was a storybook cottage where life’s setbacks and scares were just chapters. They built their love on the rock that withstands every storm.

W. renamed Petra “Gracie.” It was perfect. It was the same name in a different dialect. For what is grace, if not the solid ground on which love stands?

Love stands, even when the continents chatter like an old man’s teeth.

Love stands, even when the rain and wind beat on the storybook roof.

Love stands, even when life ends.

Knowing Petra — now Gracie — as we do, I’ll bet she knew that her mama was unwell. I’ll bet she doubled her devotion. In the math of kittens, “infinity” has exponents. I’ll bet she pulled heaven down from the rafters to give W. a glimpse.

I’ll bet the aging kitten was her mama’s comfort.

But not even a cat who walks barefoot through grace can remain un-wounded.

Gracie’s mama crossed the veil, and Gracie kept staring, squinting, straining towards the story that had never turned untrue.

The chapters jumbled in a wheelbarrow of letters, and Gracie found herself back at Tabby’s Place. “Once a Tabby’s Place cat, always a Tabby’s Place cat” is a solid rock, but aging kittens don’t know this. Aging kittens only know that they are grieving. They are longing for the face who made them feel like the best loved cat under heaven.

They are gasping for grace.

Tabby’s Place is their treasure box.

If you fear you are a common stone, Tabby’s Place is your heritage. If you cannot find your face in the grit yard, Tabby’s Place is your cathedral.

If loss has lashed you until you are smooth as a river rock, Tabby’s Place is the dry land where flowers bloom in winter.

If you are too scared to believe that you are the most loved cat, you are still a Tabby’s Place cat. We will believe for you, until you can hold the book in your paws again.

Our hands are trembling, too. We are the fellowship of the brokenhearted, and our paw pads are all scarred. We have survived the partings we thought would split us open, and grace has put us back on the rock.

Gracie will never be the same as she was before her grief. None who loves will stay un-wounded.

But love will make narrators of us all.

Love has claimed Gracie as its protagonist. The chapters are blurry, but the ending is assured.

Gracie, most precious, we will make your mama proud.

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