There are fragile kittens. There are sturdy kittens.
There is no way to tell the difference.
In the end, there is no difference.
There are, above all, many kittens. I have given up counting, because I have ten fingers, and math is not my forte. Suffice to say: Tabby’s Place is awash in infants.
We have kittens named for legumes, orphan brothers smaller than burritos.
We have kittens contained by mothers, until their mothers can’t contain themselves and a family of one becomes a family of six.
We have kittens whose blue eyes have to be believed to be seen, because they are gummed shut with sickness.
We have kittens whose infections chose the wrong kittens, because the kittens will live to tell other kittens about “that time I clobbered death.”
It is summer, when kittens are born behind every barn and Arby’s. But it is summer 2024, which is something else entirely. If every summer is the Summer Of Kittens, we have entered THE! SUMMER! OF! KITTENS!
We agreed to assist with a large, sickly colony. This is the equivalent of kissing a mystery on its forehead while it is having a tantrum. This is not for the faint of heart. But we reminded each other: we are Tabby’s Place, where the fragile and the forgotten are first and foremost.
The kittens seconded that motion. We have been in perpetual motion ever since.
I say “we,” but I am a floppy buffoon of a storyteller. I am here to report on my friends.
My friends are our otherworldly staff, wielding the world’s smallest eyedroppers to salve screaming blue peepers.
My friends are our sleepless foster families, swatting away their own basic needs to keep vigil over newborns.
My friends are microwaving “heat support” at one in the morning, wriggling on their bellies through tall grass for a single mewing infant, and staring down death when its gnarled fingers reach for a kitten.
Death reaches, and reaches, and reaches.
Death plays dirty, plucking a newborn prince who seemed strong and squirmy just hours ago.
Death power-walks around the colony, making lists of the kittens it would like to claim. Death sticks Post-its on their foreheads, “mine.”
Death overplays its hand.
Death does not know my friends, seraphs in sweatpants. Self-sacrifice is the business of every hero. They bathe, feed, and win unseen battles for innocents who weigh less than scrunchies.
They are the sturdiest people I know.
They are the most fragile people I know.
I have just said the same thing twice.
Death can do many things. But it will never understand that the most breakable beings are the strongest.
The staff and volunteers who care for kittens will shatter with every loss. They will not be ashamed of their tears. They could have chosen hearts of iron, but they rejected the invitation.
My friends will break, only because they were strong enough to love. My friends will love again, because they are strong enough to survive breaking.
You, dear readers, understand. I know you do, because you are here, loving bravely beside us. If you feel so moved, please know that your donation right now will go a long way for these little ones.
THE! SUMMER! OF! KITTENS! is full of joy, but we are never far from heartbreak. When we meet a kitten, we never know if the play is a comedy or a tragedy. Kittens are invincible egos with bones like vermicelli. They are immune to discouragement, but their immune systems can collapse in an hour. They have the courage to scream for what they need, and skin thinner than the veil between earth and heaven.
When you are a Tabby’s Place kitten, your name is a finger in death’s eye.
You are not nobody.
You are Chiron (pictured in thumbnail), son of Comet, foster daughter of Ginny. You are Fennel, son of Sorrel, foster daughter of Drew. You are Cannellini, foster bean of Jeff. You are Panthera, foster daughter of Tiana. You are Wybie, foster son of Grace. You were Dill, as much Drew’s child as Sorrel’s, alive in our memories forever.
You are a stranger no longer. You will not be a statistic. You are a family member, robed in dignity. You are worth the hours and the uncertainties. You are fragile as shortbread, yet sturdy as the long arm that reached into the grass and grasped you.
When you are a Tabby’s Place kitten, you will grasp that you are loved, which is to say invincible.
There is nothing more fragile than a kitten.
There is nothing stronger than a loved kitten.
