There’s pretty much nothing sub-stellar about kittens.
Well…maybe there’s one wretched exception: they are so blasted fragile. As the always-honest Dr. C told me a few years ago, it’s rare to have a kitten season where you don’t “lose some.”
There’s pretty much nothing sub-stellar about kittens.
Well…maybe there’s one wretched exception: they are so blasted fragile. As the always-honest Dr. C told me a few years ago, it’s rare to have a kitten season where you don’t “lose some.”
I’m not sure who said it first.
But somewhere in the last few weeks, several of us foolish human beans have dared to remark, “It’s awfully late in kitten season for us to have no kittens.”
Foolish, foolish human beans.
Eight kittens. One room.
How many seconds before the average human bean is knocked flat by nuclear cuteness?
It’s a little-known fact that Tabby’s Place is larger than it seems.
There are a lot of doors in this place, and they all lead somewhere.
I don’t know about you, but, personally, I like that last slice of bread - the “end” or the “heel,” as its cultured despisers call it.
It’s always a little crustier, a little more rustic and real and rad. And so it is with the end of the Mighty Breads.