Perhaps you know about honeysuckle.

One summer day, you felt small under the sky, out in the elements of this beautiful, terrible world.

That’s when it hit you.

Before your brain had time to guard your heart, the scent of a flower filled your senses.

There was honeysuckle in the air. Something good was growing nearby.

It was enough to give you back your bravery.

Perhaps you know about Honeysuckle.

A kitten of five weeks should feel safe at all times. She belongs in a bubble, keeping fear out and love in. The world should be a greenhouse.

But some little petals must be very strong, very young.

The grey-and-white kitten was almost too small to be seen beneath the truck.

A twitch of motion tugged the sanitation worker’s sight. Was that some sort of tumbleweed? He stooped to take a closer look. Someone good was near, but afraid.

He scooped up the baby and called for aid. Like a flock of angels, sanitation workers filled the parking lot. There could be other kittens. They would not leave them behind. But their search turned up empty. This crumpled blossom was the only one.

We never know the flower chain of “coincidences” and serendipities that tuck Tabby’s Place behind any given ear. Someone overhears murmurs about a miracle. Stories waft through a diner or salon. The rumors sound too good. The scent is too sweet for this world.

But once you hear of a place where the lost are loved, you don’t forget.

And if you are a sanitation worker with a fading kitten in your palm, you are relieved to remember.

Honeysuckle arrived trembling, but she arrived in time. Her eyes watered with wonder. She burrowed in the sanitation worker’s sweatshirt.

She cowered, as though she were pulling her own petals over her head. Her senses were flooded. Kind voices cooed as fingertips stroked her brow. It was almost enough to make her forget her pain.

But when you are five weeks old, sometimes you just have to cry.

Honeysuckle’s front leg and jaw were fractured. The downy pinna of her ear was torn. She had been so brave, for so long, but old and new injuries broke her bubble. Everything here smelled like hope, but how could she be sure?

For that matter, how could you be sure?

You were the sweet scent on the breeze, carried by some Great Breath before Honeysuckle was even born. If you’ve ever given to the Linda Fund, you were one of the people building her greenhouse. You were mending the bubble.

And you were here to receive Honeysuckle when there was no time to count the cost.

You did not know what she would look like. She was invisible to your senses. But you were sure she would need you. You loved her in advance.

And in that grand exhale of generosity, the blooming began.

Honeysuckle made the journey to our emergency vet, who tended to her wounds and wrapped her shattered leg in a purple bandage. Only time would tell if that little stem would survive. But life on three legs is worth the dance. Honeysuckle would live. Honeysuckle would breathe the pure air of love.

And now, adopted and unbroken, Honeysuckle is remembering what every kitten knows before they learn to guard their hearts.

The world is more beautiful than terrible.

Someone good is nearby.

And, like another grey-and-white kitten before her, one frail petal can grow as brave as love itself.

This is the power of your Linda Fund donation. Thank you, Tabby’s Place family.

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