“The harvest has begun.”

Jonathan has said this before. Jonathan will say it again.

Each time, he sounds as amazed as if it were the first time.

As our Founder and Executive Director, Jonathan is the heart, soul, brain, and courage behind Tabby’s Place. He was Tabby’s Place before there was a Tabby’s Place. Over twenty-one years and nearly five thousand cats later, you might think Jonathan is used to cats.

Jonathan is still stunned.

“The harvest has begun.”

I first heard him say this in summer 2007. I had been working at Tabby’s Place one month. I was not sure if he expected us to start picking gooseberries or digging up rutabagas.

But Jonathan was referring to kittens.

The first bottle baby of the year had arrived, wailing in the cupped hands of a stranger. In an instant, the stranger became family, and the grey puff became Limerick. He was, of course, just the opening act in Kittenpalooza.

This was the first time I’d been around a newborn kitten, and I was liquefied. It was hard to comprehend that anyone so precious could actually exist.

Limerick was all feathery fuzz and trust, with half-moon ears scrunched shut and eyes too young for sunshine. We watched him grow into a plum-bellied comedian, roly-poly and unafraid. His hazy baby eyes learned to meet our gaze. I could scarcely believe such a perfect creature would look me in the eye, and smile.

I was sure Limerick was the most heavenly kitten who had ever deigned to land on Earth.

But if you have seen one kitten, you have only seen one kitten.

“The harvest has begun.”

The excitement over kittens never “gets old,” and the presence of kittens turns everyone young. Our venerable Founder would page the entire building, “May I have your attention. I am playing with kittens in the Lobby. Your presence is requested.”

The little tabbies might fit in our palms, but we were the putty in their paws. Still, it took time to understand that these gooseberries were far more than “adorable.”

It would be understandable if we saw a diminishing rate of amazement over time. You learn that kittens all jump sideways at each other like Halloween decorations. You know their eyes and ears will engulf them. You realize they will sleep in the crook of your neck as though you are the safest place under the sky.

“The harvest has begun.”

The mystery is that the kittens get more, not less, miraculous, the more of them you love.

If getting to know one kitten is a gift, Tabby’s Place turns us into tycoons.

And by getting to know one kitten at a time, I am getting to know my friends.

Jonathan is the one who started it, but he is not the only one. Our staff and volunteers are all vulnerable. Each kitten softens their soil a little more. They become wild gardens with no walls. They would do anything for any one kitten, whatever the cost.

They breathe their own breath into tiny lungs. They forego sleep to feed the stubborn and starving. They practice resurrection on friends the size of their fingers.

The kittens could not do anything to earn this. All they can do is arrive, one, by one, by unprecedented, unrepeatable one.

And when you plant your heart in the one, you are as fragile as a kitten yourself.

Kittens act like gladiators and astronauts even before their eyes open. But they are velveteen and stardust. They do not all survive to liftoff. We know this, in our heads, but the heart is too big for any crash helmet.

When we lose a kitten, we do not lose “one of the kittens.” We lose someone who was never here before and will never be here again. We gasp as though we had never been through this before. Which, of course, we haven’t, not with this one.

“The harvest has begun.”

It has been a minute since 2007, and I am still agape, gathering gooseberries. I am the stammering storyteller at Tabby’s Place, hitting the limits of words.

We are in the presence of souls packed in parcels small as bean bags. We are arm in arm with angels aware they have not “seen it all.” We are being cultivated into the kind of people who remain amazed, as though each little one is the first one.

Which is true.

If this summer brings ninety-nine kittens, everything will still stop and start again with the hundredth. Whether they arrive in twos or dozens, we will cup each one to the light, staring in disbelief. Do we get to love this one, too? How can it be, that we have been given another?

We will turn to each other and laugh like those who dream.

Jonathan will laugh the loudest. “The harvest has begun.”

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