Kitty

When Taryn was 7 months old, or "zero years old" as she likes to say, she got her first stuffed animal for Christmas from my Aunt Pam. It was a beautiful plush cat, with fur as fluffy and white as freshly driven snow, and lovely marble blue eyes. I promptly named this cat "Kitty" because I am so creative. At her young age, Taryn didn't have a particular inclination toward Kitty, but I chose to put it in her stroller with her when we would go out and about, or to give it to her on car rides. Soon, she got used to Kitty being around, and before long she actually started to prefer him being there to not. He went everywhere she went: to Nana's house, to bed, the doctor's office, and even the dreaded dentist. When she would fall asleep, she would rub kitty on the front right paw sweetly, as the softness of his puffy paw calmed her and reassured her that she was not alone. During more nervous times, like on the way to the dentist, she would rub kitty on that same paw faster, almost feverishly, as she quietly cried and tried to extract any bit of comfort from him that she could.

My memories of Taryn's childhood thus far, both happy and sad, are "Kittyful", and I think I am almost as attached to that little stuffed kitten as Taryn is. When I think of the day that Taryn doesn't need Kitty anymore, it makes my heart swell with emotions. So, too, does the memory of her little 3 year old face peeking over the edge of the washing machine to say goodbye to Kitty when he had to get a "bath". The pout on her lips, and the question, "Will he be ok?", still melt my heart with my memory of it just as it did that very day.

Kitty looks different now. His snow colored fur is still snow colored, but now it resembles the snow a few days after the storm, after having been exposed to the salt and sand trucks, and then pushed aside by the plow. His once fluffy fur is unfluffable now, no matter how hard we try. Instead, it sits smoothly against his body, and his seams show all over because of it. Kitty's once clear, marble blue eyes are now so scratched that I am sure that he can scarcely see a thing anymore. In true Velveteen Rabbit fashion, being loved has taken a toll on Kitty. He has been there, and he has been faithful. He has never failed her, not even once. But love has a way of revealing things, doesn't it? Whether it be people or stuffed animals, the more we give ourselves to being loved legitimately, the more our beautiful facade fades and we show our seams. Kitty shows the scars of having been loved. He gave his fluff, his cleanliness, his whiskers, and his sparkling eyes, just a little bit each day, whenever they were required. As he did, my little girl learned to be brave, and peaceful, and to feel safer.

Sometimes when I see Kitty sitting on the bed next to the pristine, newer stuffed animals that overpopulate the area, I want to cry. I remember him the way he once was, and I see how he has aged. I appreciate him so much, for what he has meant to my little girl, and I wish that I could have kept him from getting so common looking, and maybe even a little bit pitiful. I feel sorry for him, as I tug on his limbs and test whether they are starting to come loose, and wish that her love hadn't taken so much out of him.

But then bedtime comes, and Taryn throws all of the other, perfect animals on the floor and holds Kitty in her arms. No stuffed animal has ever looked as beautiful as Kitty does in that moment, and I know that all of those other animals must wish for just one moment to have a little girl love them like that.

Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.”
― Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit