You have never met anyone who was not scrappy.

This is as true for the shining ones as for the ragamuffins.

Beneath the softest fur or the smoothest life, you will find a small creature who had to be brave.

But sometimes, you can see the seams.

In quilting, “ruching” is a technique to create pleats and puckers. It adds texture, drama, softness. At Tabby’s Place, Ruchi is a cat the color of your favorite sweatshirt. He has been torn and frayed, vexed and shredded. Yet his softness is intact, because Ruchi is scrappy.

The first day we saw his face, Ruchi had nearly been reduced to ribbons. He was an innocent seeker under the sun, piecing together his own survival.

Ruchi never saw the dog coming. He owes his life to the kind eyes that witnessed the attack. Some good soul gathered Ruchi up and rushed the tattered tabby to the emergency vet. He would live. He would become scrappy. Nothing would ever be the same.

Even in this well-worn world, there is a golden thread of mercy. It finds raveled beings and starts stitching.

It looks like the surgeon who saves a stray. It looks like the sun that rises after what could have been the last night of your life. It looks like the friend who fills your fridge and washes your feet. It looks like the vet tech who says, “I’ll take him home” and means more than “I will house him.”

Most of us keep our stitches secret, under our hoodies or our humor. But golden threads stand out on a grey cat. And Ruchi has reason to be proud of all his pieces.

On this side of survival, Ruchi’s life is custom-tailored.

Foster care with Drew was his first hint that miracles were not reserved for special occasions. A cat could be clothed in kindness every day, even if his stitches were crooked.

Ruchi sneezed constantly, affixing brooches to Drew’s clothing, and by “brooches” I mean “boogers of impressive size.” Ruchi made mountains of “muffins,” working his paws like the treadle of a sewing machine, as if he could stitch a thousand-foot “Thank You” banner.

Ruchi developed diabetes, the disease associated with needles. He did not drop the thread of his story. Life was magical, merciful, even mystical. He was no plain duvet. He was a crazy quilt, with rows and rows of ruffles and ruching.

He was scrappy. He was whole. And he is working hard on stitching tangled kittens like you and me into his very own cat’s cradle.

Living in the Tabby’s Place lounge, Ruchi no longer has to be brave.

He is rich in kisses, breakfasts, and, yes, insulin. There are laps and bird feeders. There is a high risk of forgetting the particulars of pain. Even now, Ruchi could not describe in detail the days before. He is under the blanket of this day, and out from the scrap heap forever.

Once you have become “scrappy,” you get to keep that qualification all the days of your life. It will get you through delayed dinners and raggedy conversations. It will needle you when you forget how far you have come. It will remind you that mercy is the thread.

And if you are as scrappy as Ruchi, it will inspire you to sew someone else back together, with or without brooches.

Today, Ruchi shares every inch with us, unwilling to hoard. Did you know that some kibble tastes like Thanksgiving, and some kibble tastes like the Fourth of July, and all kibble tastes like somebody loves you?

Did you know that fleece plus dryer equals bliss?

Did you know that there are people on this Earth who will skritch your chin as long as you like, even if they have somewhere else to be, even if they have to call and cancel on somewhere else?

Did you know that jingle balls exist?

Have you ever looked at your own toes long enough to be amazed? Have you ever looked at anything long enough to be amazed?

Would you like to start by looking at Ruchi?

There is nothing scrappier than to love your life, all the way to its seams.

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