Congratulations, kittens.
You made it to Level 12 of 2025.
I understand if you don’t feel like kittens at this late date.
You’ve just run an eleven-month marathon. There have been blessings and blisters. You’ve tasted treats you never knew existed, and you’ve gotten your tail slammed in the door of hard goodbyes.
Now your legs are tired, there’s a gravy stain shaped like Bello on your belly, and you feel about as childlike as the last shriveled cranberry in the bowl.
Take heart.
There is life among the leftovers.
Just ask the cats who dreamed new dreams in the twilight of November. Poppa Lay didn’t lay down and pout. Toby didn’t misspell FeLV as O-V-E-R. Willow didn’t weep in a pint of self-pity.
And there’s no way you’re gonna give up just when things are about to get good. Perhaps some November reminders will revive us all:
Arrived: Gigi, Danny, Marble Rye, Tibbles, Pudge, Marv, Harry, Humperdink (pictured in top thumbnail), Karl, Phoebe, Chip, Louie the Lip, Maria, Yippee, Hooray, Huzzah, Bebe, Francine, Mothman, Jackalope, DW
Adopted: Crepe & Waffle (together); Gochujang, Gimbap, and Finn (together); Flap & Jacks (together); Thor, England, and Martina (together); Flora & Fauna (together); Dawn (pictured in top banner) & Nirvana (together); Prota & Funga (together); Lotus & Marigold (together); Canary & Archer (together; Archer is a Hospice foster); Drew; Toby; Mysterio; Anakin (pictured in top banner)
Returned: Bobbi & Moose (together); Astro
Promoted to Heaven: Silver, Harriet, Verde (all Forever Fosters)
Victorious over The Great Ringworm Battle of 2025: Berry, Atari
Stuff We Learned: The family that spoon-feeds cats turkey together, stays together. Thank you to the 295 of you who joined us for Thanksgiving with the Cats. Thank you to the many more of you who are no less near for being geographically far. You are our cats’ comfort and joy.
If there’s one thing we’re sure of at Tabby’s Place, it’s that cats think we look funny in sweatpants. But if there are two things we’re sure of, the other one is this: the eleventh hour is where hope shows off its stuff.
It could be the twelfth month of a tough year, the seventh decade of a hardscrabble life, or the umpteenth grief that feels like the end.
It’s a “hopeless situation” against unconditional love … and we all know who wins.
So lift your heads, kittens. December’s pockets are full of promises.
The year is still young, and so are you.