The traffic between the North Pole and New Jersey is heavy this time of year.
It is Christmas Eve, and no red-nosed reindeer has made his way to Tabby’s Place’s roof.
But a far more magical creature is here.
Can you picture Murdock as a kitten? Imagine the littlest gingerbread man, a dollop of brown-sugar dough. Born without a tail, Murdock was not a cookie-cutter cat. But the cinnamon Manx never knew what he was missing.
When you are loved, you lack nothing.
“Manx Syndrome” is not on any kitten’s wish list. There is no way to gift-wrap a lifetime of gastrointestinal festivities.
But wise kittens grow bigger wishes. Murdock belly-laughs at his “bowel issues.” Murdock says a body is no less heavenly for missing pieces. Murdock, short on spine and long on love, has never met anybody who is not missing pieces.
Do you remember yourself as a kitten? That is more difficult. The cloud cover is dense across decades. By the time we outgrow our footy pajamas, we forget we were ever adorable. We crumple our wish lists. We give up on seeing the star through the fog.
Then someone greater than Santa Claus sends a cat who has never given up one day of his life.
It is Christmas Eve, and gentle fingers will squeeze Murdock’s bladder. You will not spot this scene in any Norman Rockwell painting. This is absent from the script of every Hallmark Channel movie starring Lacey Chabert.
It can only be found on the floor.
Murdock sees the star undimmed.
Murdock feels those fingers as proof of love. Love brought him to Tabby’s Place, and love is the reason people are missing carols and pies to be here tonight. Some may say that Murdock was born at the bottom of the tree, a cracked ornament unfit for the highest bough.
But Murdock knows that love lives to descend.
If you are lost, go where all the sweetness gathers like brown sugar. Love is everyone who falls to their knees to get eye-to-eye with the wise cat. Love leaves the party so the cats are not alone. Love likes its disguises and is often found in fog, but its address is a little lower than the angels.
I have heard people describe the Tabby’s Place lobby as “The Island of Misfit Toys,” and that’s true as far as it goes. There are trains dragging their cabooses and at least one baby doll who screams punk music. Tails droop like unsecured garland, or don’t exist at all. Half the gifts are diapered.
But I think the lobby is more like an upside-down cake.
Everything beautiful is where you least expect it. Everyone sweet is missing pieces. There are kittens of all ages. If you are looking for royalty, lay on the floor, belly-up to the skylight. You will be in excellent position to look up and find Murdock snuffling your face.
Perhaps someday the cake will be inverted. The world will see that the bedraggled are the beloved, and the misfits are the magical.
Perhaps.
But whether or not the world ever sees through the fog, we are all together in the light, tonight.
Merry Christmas, kittens.