The Cake is no gateau, fancy and fussy.
The Cake is not a croissant, all buttery ego with no weight.
The Cake is a secret recipe, but he is sharing one crumb at a time.
The Cake is Snack Cake, whose aliases include Da Cake, Snax, and Li’l Dessert, although I would not recommend using that last one unless you are either Little Debbie herself, or delivering lunch.
Get too sweet, too soon, and The Cake will make haste to the nearest hideout. If you come on too strong, with sticky fingers reaching to skritch his cheeks, The Cake will crouch into a loaf, hoping to convince you he is bland bran bread.
But there is no hiding that face, a homemade specialty that is half vanilla, half chocolate, and too whole for half-baked ideas. The Cake is not mean; he just knows he is meaningful. He is not devil’s food, but even angels have layers.
You may snarf a sponge cake in a single bite. Krimpets are quickly forgotten. But tenderness is a torte to be savored.
And The Cake wants to see if we believe he’s worth the wait.
Life before Tabby’s Place was a bitter batter. Snack Cake chased crumbs on the grounds of a prison. There is no Funfetti for the friendless. Get hungry and heartbroken enough, and you may even think fruitcake is edible, even though it is immortal, as dense as a neutron star, and full of green cherries that stare at you like eyeballs.
Fortunately, Snack Cake did not quite reach that point of despair.
He became a Tabby’s Place cat.
But becoming who you are is a process. You cannot microwave trust. The pursuit of peace does not fit in an EZ-Bake Oven.
We must follow many steps to make The Cake feel safe, and the recipe is written in real-time.
“Time” is our favorite ingredient at Tabby’s Place, and patience is the ganache that sticks lonely crumbs together.
The Cake needs to know that friendship is no fickle frosting. Grand gestures and trick candles will not do. Only the daily bread of consistent kindness will satisfy Snack Cake.
The recipe is simple enough for a child, but not easy.
So, our task is time plus warmth. The Cake holds the kitchen timer. The Cake may or may not ever let us hold him like a giant Yodel in our arms.
But while he once scrunched his shoulders, now he stretches out like nougat. Fear flattened his face of flavor, but today you will catch him sampling his own smile. (You can get him to laugh if you say the word “bundt” repeatedly.)
The cat with the split face has tasted wholeness here. He has begun to share his secrets by the spoonful. There will be cinnamon chips, and surprise globs of garlic. Sweetness will advance and retreat.
The recipe for rebirth is never quite “done.”
But The Cake is in the house, and the party has begun.
Update: The Cake has left the building. The Cake now reigns over his dream Cakedom, shared with Tapenade and Marble Rye: a bountiful barn home where two generations dote on him while honoring his shyness. It’s his blue-ribbon recipe for bliss. Congratulations, Snack Cake!