The world loves the precocious. You can find many articles like, “The 21 Most Eminent Astrophysicists Under 21,” or “Seven Must-Read Novelists Under Age Three.” But, although I’m happy for kittens who make it big, I confess: my favorite flower is the late bloomer.
Is a small stray tabby an inconvenience, or an invitation? Is her mangled eye a horror, or a call to love? Tell me what you see, and you will tell me who you are.
If a cat was here “within living memory,” that means there are people at today’s picnic table who knew them in person. We remember every detail. Our faces glow like bonfires as we tell you: His whiskers were as curly as a fancy French mustache. Her belly was softer than feathers. He knew the word […]
Ruby won. This is the only valid explanation for what went down in the Lounge.
An artist creates from the overflow of his soul, not the expectation of applause. But, golly, it’s fun when folks admire your stuff. Just ask Vincent and Vincent.
We have many ways to describe a short-tempered cat. They are zesty and sassy, carbonated and opinionated. They are curmudgeonly and persnickety and assertive and Olive. You can call them cayenne or jalapeno or gingery or spicy. But it turns out you can’t call them Spicey.
Was he just too small to make it? Were we just too small to save him? Or is love larger than the questions grief can’t answer?
Losing your person may feel like the meanest misfortune. But if there’s a four-leaf clover in your carrier, something greater than luck carried you here.
A toucan can be a spokesbird for Froot Loops. A parrot can recite the lyrics to “Margaritaville.” But it takes a Macaw to speak the full truth.