Shelby is fourteen. If she were human, Shelby would be seventy-five. Nevertheless, Shelby is a baby. We have the pictures to prove it.
If you have hurtled through hard times with your soft heart intact, you deserve a victory chant. Much more: you are a victory chant. Everyone hear it for Kamate, Kamate!
It might appear that Tabby’s Place is the best thing that ever happened to Wally. But really, Wally is the best thing that ever happened to Wally. Now we just need to convince Wally.
It was just a funny little typo on our staff message board: “I recreated Graham.” She didn’t. She couldn’t. Even if she could, she wouldn’t. But it was the type of typo that reminds us what type of critters we are.
The long haul is no small thing. It’s the same old face you loved yesterday, too familiar to be boring. It’s the umpteenth ordinary breakfast, silent except for the symphony of whiskers and kibble. It’s Trinket and Tchotchke, cats named for knick-knacks, who have the knack for marathons.
There are changes that happen so slowly, you don’t notice them until the happening has happened. Maybe you look in the mirror and see your father at age thirty-seven, which is perplexing, since you were under the impression he was still thirty-seven, and you were still eight. Maybe a mere acquaintance becomes the person you […]
Leia‘s reputation precedes her. Before folks even see her face, the questions come: “I heard she’s a real Russian Blue?” “Is it true that she’s an intergalactic princess?” “Is she really the most beautiful cat in the universe?”
In the Bible, Babel is where human languages all got scrambled. In New Jersey, “babble” is what happens when we talk to cats. And at Tabby’s Place, Babs is all ears for all manner of grammar.
Glistening filets of salmon do not make him happy. Dryer-fresh blankets, embroidered with the face of Winnie the Pooh, do not make him happy. Happiness certainly does not make him happy. But, googly gumdrops, we are awful happy that Eeyore is here.
After five thousand cats, you might think we have run out of “firsts.” But remember: we are dealing with a species of icons and originals. A cat is not “number five” or “number five thousand.” Just take it from the boy who is a value meal unto himself.