You can count on Sweetie, you know.
This may come as a surprise, since Sweetie doesn’t even want you to count the rings on his tail.
He is timid and ponderous, bashful and bewildered.
That is precisely why you can count on Sweetie.
You just need to learn what Sweetie knows.
Knowing his name is the first step. Even before you step into his suite, you possess vital information.
Someone saw fit to call this cat “Sweetie.” He is neither “Maximus” nor “Ragmar.” This is not a “Babka” or a “Cheez-It.” Those are all honorable names, but they are not this cat’s name.
This is the cat called “Sweetie.”
The name was not a merit badge. The city stray was no fountain of kisses. Bewildered in Brooklyn, he did not mug for hugs. Sweetie was more cautious than the pigeons. If he could, he would have hidden himself under their grey wings.
But there is no hiding from someone who knows your name. A woman — we will call her “Light” — called the cat “Sweetie” before his first feat of sweetness. The cat was hungry and afraid. The cat belonged to no one but the sidewalk.
Light beckoned. Light met his eyes. Light said, “Sweetie!”
Soon, Sweetie would know his name.
It is a powerful thing to have a name. It is an astonishing thing to have a name that knows you better than you know yourself. Sweetie was “Sweetie” before he earned it. Sweetie was “Sweetie,” because some things cannot be earned.
Sweetie had much to learn.
The education commenced with kindness.
The woman called Light opened the curtains of her heart. Sweetie had access to warmth and safety. There was no encryption on affection, no password on peace. No matter how he hid, no matter how he hesitated, his acceptance was non-refundable.
No matter that he tested positive for feline leukemia virus (FeLV). Four fierce letters could not graffiti the grace that gave him a name.
They could only draw more love into Sweetie’s life.
There is a quiet choreography between city and suburb, sweet and scared, FeLV and “forever.” The dance is different every time, but we know it by its footprints.
The city of Light led to Tabby’s Place. Here, in Ringoes, NJ, a mere mustard seed on the map, the panicky pigeon found a nest.
Light spilled everything she knew. Yes, Sweetie was shy, but did you know he loved to have his paws rubbed? He adored cats. He adored being adored. He was “Sweetie” from his stripes to his strawberry nose. There was confectioner’s sugar beneath the surface.
We are ready to catch every crystal.
This is Tabby’s Place, where we know more than we can explain. We know that the shy cat, shuddery and huddly, is simply on his first day of kindergarten. We know that kindergarten sometimes lasts a lifetime. We know how to play patty-cake with trembling paws. We know that Sweetie, the FeLV+ cat, is one of the reasons we were placed on this earth in this era.
That also means that we — staff and volunteers and donors and Light and you, reading these words — are part of the reason Sweetie was placed on this earth.
All the way home to Brooklyn, Light wept and rejoiced. Light left without leaving, because once you have named someone, you are always holding hands.
Sweetie counts himself among the safe, because he could count on Light. Sweetie counts sunbeams in his solarium, because he can count on Tabby’s Place. Sweetie will never need to count the letters F-e-L-V, because his life is measured in mercy.
But love is never a one-lane bridge. We can count on Sweetie, too, you know.
Sweetie knows that he is “Sweetie,” whether he hides, holds our hands, or bimbles bravely into the solarium sun. Sweetie knows that bimbling is the bravest thing a student can do.
Sweetie knows that this is the safest kindergarten in the cosmos.
Sweetie still looks serious, and perhaps he always will. He has the eyes of a dove, solemn and momentous. He will stare into you, but not through you.
You can count on Sweetie, because he considers you a solid object. You can count on Sweetie, because he believes he can count on you.
There are few higher compliments.
Then again, this cat learned sweetness from Light.
Sweetie looks in our eyes until we hear our names, and they sound an awful lot like “sweetie.”
Look back, and you might come to know what Sweetie knows.
You can count on Sweetie, you know.