Permit me to blow your mind: when Tabby’s Place began, there was no squeeze-chicken.
No squeeze-tuna.
Not even one gelatinous drop of aqueous turkey.
But every era is saved, at last, by beauty. Just as Michelangelo glimpsed the Pieta within the marble, some modern hero saw possibility. Sitting at the breakfast table, clasping a Go-Gurt, this unsung legend was ravished by revelation.
Cats deserve squeezable meat.
And lo, the world was changed.
We forget how quickly life’s architecture can alter. We are each, personally, rescued by no fewer than 500 epiphanies a day. We have no idea.
Mr. Peanut has all the ideas. This is fortunate, since Mr. Peanut does not have:
- A monocle
- A top hat
- The ability to express his own bladder
- The “normal” use of his hind legs
- The “normal” level of concern about being “normal”
There is little normal about our nobleman. He has eyes large enough for all the planets to curl up and take a nap inside. He has a sense of humor and a sense of rhythm that shimmies every stripe independently. He loves despite impressive evidence that love is daft and dangerous.
He loves life, despite the fact that it is slippery business.
“Normal” rivals “hopeless” in the Big Book Of Words We Think Are Stupid at Tabby’s Place. But “normal” once stood like a belching bouncer between Mr. Peanut and the future. His Special Needs were simply too nutty. His daily care stuck to the roof of mercy’s mouth.
Neither his innocence, his eminence, nor his connections with The Monopoly Guy could save Mr. Peanut. The party was over. The euthanasia needle was drawn.
The world was about to change.
Epiphanies are as wiggly as jelly, and miracles rarely sign their names on their masterpieces. We can’t quite pull apart the sandwich of serendipities that saved Mr. Peanut in the final hour. We can only say that it tastes like childhood. It tastes like a whole handful of peanut M&M’s. It tastes like the look in your stuffy aunt’s eyes when she catches you eating a whole handful of peanut M&M’s…and proceeds to do the same, eyes giggling.
One moment, Mr. Peanut was a cat out of calendar pages.
The next, he was newborn in the midst of middle age.
This is not the normal order of things. The world says some needs are just too sticky. Some cats (feline and otherwise) are inconvenience incarnate. Love is grand, within limits. Kindness is cool, but start talking about bladders, and, well, “check, please!”
But Mr. Peanut, unlike his namesake, does not wear a corrective lens. Tabby’s Place, unlike the nearsighted world, does not need to squint. Love is unshelled and unconditional. Love is the revelation that is fresh every morning.
There has never been a time before love, but it needs to remake the world and the bread and the discovery of its own power daily.
World: permit Tabby’s Place to blow your mind. Stay awhile, and we’ll even make you a sandwich. You have much to learn, world.
Why gnaw the unbuttered crust of normal when epiphanies abound?
Love saved you, Mr. Peanut, but you’re saving love from the lie of “limits.” In a world where everything can change quickly, we tip our top hats to the light that never leaves. Dear boy, you are safe in the architecture of our affection. Forever.
Photos all courtesy of our remarkable, radiant Rey, Mr. Peanut’s foster parent … who has now become Mr. Peanut’s adoptive parent. That’s right: Mr. Peanut is now Valerie‘s brother. Please commence the wild rumpus.