Kevved up

Kevved up

It’s happening, kittens.

The cats and the moon are communicating. Conspiring. Collaborating. Celebrating a little too early.

How else to explain the coming of Kevin?

Some historians claim that the coming of Kevin was foretold by Gator.

After all, this particular gingersnap was the first cat in Tabby’s Place history to personally deliver himself to our door. One day, there were no apex predators on the premises; the next, a sand-colored cat with sleepy eyes shuffled into town, thundering “good day, good counselors! I have heard that thine is a sanctuary for cats of the highest caliber and the hinkiest histories. Sakes alive! I am both. Glory be!”

(Just kidding. That’s not how Gator talks. This is a family-friendly blog, so I can’t reprint how Gator talks. But his opening salvo was something like “HISTORY BEGINS TODAY! BRING FORTH THE PASTRAMI, PEONS!”)

Gator came first…

But Gator stormed our gates; Kevin came on little kitten feet…and great expectations.

Kevin expected Quinn’s Corner to be open.

Kevin expected Quinn’s Corner to be spectacular.

Kevin expected Quinn’s Corner to be composed of kindhearted creatures who would welcome him with warmth and wonder.

He got two out of three right.

And so he came. He leapt through a hole where a door will soon be. He marched into the middle of our under-construction castle, surprising the workmen and himself and all the laughing angels. (Nobody can get angels to laugh quite like a kitten.)

Kevin stood in the center of Quinn’s Corner, right under the ellipse, and he declared it all very good. (“A little rough around the edges, but rustic is in these days. ‘Real walls’ are overrated. Olive loaf is underrated. The latter is also cheaper and more fragrant building material.”)

Quinn’s Corner is not quite ready for prime time, of course. Our audacious expansion, a mercy-mansion for the most vulnerable cats, is a few months away from opening. There are no doors. There is no electricity.

…but Kevin’s arrival was arguably greater. Welcome to Quinn’s Corner, kiddo.

But we’re breathtakingly close. We’re buzzing with bliss at every donation that drives us closer. We’re sizzling with joy at the thought of all the FeLV+ cats and kittens we’ll soon be cuddling and championing and serving like sultans.

Meanwhile, one sandwich-sized sheik is shaking the calendar and taking the reins of Today.

Today: no ordinary June day (as if such a thing should exist, which, much like an “ordinary cat,” it does not).

Today: the day that centuries of oracles had forecast Kevin would come to Tabby’s Place.

Today: the eve of the Strawberry Moon.

We only get one Strawberry Moon a year. We only get one Kevin in the history of felinity. And so it is fitting that these two smiling friends conspired and collaborated and communicated, and Kevin came to Quinn’s Corner. Today. A few months early, and right on time.

Kevin: the kitten whose kindness could furl even the surliest frown into a smile.

Kevin: the kitten whose face is so perma-stonished, he looks like another Kevin.*

The resemblance is uncanny, but our Kevin need never fear being home alone again. (He would, however, give thanks for a highly nutritious microwavable macaroni and cheese dinner.)

Kevin: the kitten who we suspect is writing Purrbnb reviews already.

Kevin: the kitten who just couldn’t wait.

Which brings me back to the good creatures Kevin expected.

Like all stargazers and sibyls, Kevin knew that this world is wild with kindness, an open-faced sandwich of surprises. Grace-gravy runs like a river through every ragged rut.

If you hope and believe and stare long enough at the sky, the moon will rise and smile on your tiny, trembling head.

Kevin’s moonbeams looked an awful lot like our lovable work crew, the quiet heroes building Quinn’s Corner. They saw a streak of white starlight, and they stopped everything. They cared; they loved; they laughed out loud at the realization that a kitten had come to Quinn’s Corner of his own volition, on his own calendar.

I can neither confirm nor deny that (a) Kevin is named for one of these wonderful workmen, nor (b) he very narrowly escaped being named Kevinlina (should he have been female), nor (c) Jonathan decreed that “anyone who names a cat Kevinlina can pick up their last paycheck on that day.”

Even now, if you stand just right, you can see the Strawberry Moon from under the ellipse of Quinn’s Corner

I can, however, confirm that Kevin has commanded our hearts.

Kevin has confirmed that the best surprises rise right on time.

Kevin has confirmed that the world will survive another day on the wings of kindness.

Kevin has confirmed that Quinn’s Corner is going to be worth the wait.

Kevin has confirmed that it is a very good thing to be alive under the strawberry moon, under the arbor of love, under the roof of Quinn’s Corner.

Even if the roof isn’t exactly finished.

We’ll never know where Kevin came from, but we’re ever so glad he came. And all the oracles agree: for Kevin, for us, and for the hundreds of cats who will pounce and purr through Quinn’s Corner, the best is yet to come.

*Kudos to Jess the Great for this observation.

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