Trent could have been born on a Viking longship.

Prescott might have ruled neolithic Bulgaria.

Fold history a little differently, and you could pilot a starship seven thousand years from now.

But against all odds, here we are, all of us, together.

“All Odds” is also a good description of the Tabby’s Place community.

At the heart of our community is Trent. He is a silky philosopher with four tufted feet, but you will only see three (more on that in a moment). Trent has been here before, but that was 2019.

If Trent appears to be made entirely of wizard-beard hair, that is an accurate observation. Trent is wisdom and majesty. Trent is power, in service to good. Trent is the top troubadour in our ragtag band.

Without Trent, our quest cannot prevail.

The course of history is at stake.

So naturally, Trent must triage his priorities. “Using the litter box consistently” does not make the shortlist.

If someone shook the snow globe of time a little differently, that would be no problem. Our silver lion could have peed freely upon the savanna. Our maned duke could have reigned among Norwegian Forest Cats, unconstrained by boxes in the land of snow.

He might have even felt the sea breeze on the Mayflower, noble on the masthead while swabbies mopped his sea spray.

But he is in 2025, when adopters cannot always accommodate “inappropriate elimination.”

No matter. Trent has one main quest. It is as timeless as the light in his eyes.

Trent was born to stop time.

His hair is long enough to braid. It is impossible to pet him without getting your fingers trapped. You may be distracted as you reach for his ruff, but Trent is a powerful wizard. You cannot love this maned mage in haste. You must join him in this moment. Silence your phone. Take off your watch. Humble yourself before the gift of “here” and the gold nugget of “now.”

Trent is so timeless, in mane and tale, that you may not even notice his special feature.

I will not call it a “birth defect.” Trent’s front leg is gnarled, even goofy. It requires him to hop, as though life is one big sidewalk game. It tucks in so tightly to his body, it may appear as though he only has three legs in total.

If you notice at all, that is.

You may be so busy falling in love, all you see is Trent. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with Trent.

Perfect though he is, Trent is still getting a handle on our time and place. He is here, in a time of clocks, Crocs, and total crocks, such as “litter box usage is required.” He is here, at Tabby’s Place, where the ragtag are royalty, and the rejected get extra helpings of rejoicing.

He has been here before.

He was a summer stray in 2019. The ends of his mane curled up like a garden of grins. He was adopted before autumn came. We wept and cheered.

We only stopped finding silver Trent hairs on our shoulders a few weeks ago.

We did not expect we would be restocked.

Trent did not expect that he would be returned, but that is because Trent did not expect anything.

Being a wizard, Trent is capable of many things. He is an unrivaled optimist and level-ten comforter. He can make his eyes larger than the entire planet on which he resides. He can draw up empathy from the emptiest well on Earth.

But he cannot have expectations.

He can only receive what comes, as it comes.

And so, more than most of us, Trent is here.

This is good news for Moo Moo, the bovine beauty who naps near Trent on the reception desk. Co-conspirators in the business of good cheer, Moo Moo stares at Trent as though she knows how lucky they are to rock Ringoes at the same time. Moo Moo steals glances at us, as though saying, can you believe we get to be here with this guy?

It is good news for Prescott, who always wanted a stunt double. Trent may be shaggier, and Prescott may be sturdier, but out the corner of your eye, one could be the other. This is helpful when Prescott’s personal quest is sneaking into Quinn’s Corner, right under her own WANTED poster. Prescott laughs over her shoulder, as though she is saying, can you believe we get to be here with this guy?

It is the best news for you and me, calendar-captives whose arms droop from wrist watches. While we wish Trent’s adoption was everlasting, we are glad he is here.

We were meant to be here at this moment, all of us, together.

Not even the maestro with the mad-scientist hair could have orchestrated that.

It is up to us if we will keep our heads down and our headphones on, or linger in the Lobby long enough to hear the music.

Trent will be here, with all the other Odds. His steps are tentative, because he is wise. He is wise, because he is astonished.

We are all given this moment, and each other.

It’s enough to make anyone forget the litter box.

Welcome back, Trent.

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