Oh, kittens. This time the words have finally failed me. I am besotted. I am befuddled. I am totalement tongue-tied.
Let’s get this out of the way. I realize “Captain Corelli’s Mandolin” is universally considered a terrible movie. You realize this. Morelli Rosenberg (more on him in a moment) realizes this. Unlike the rest of you with your sophisticated tastes, I do not care. I am among the proud, lonely 28% who gave it two […]
Take one melon-round head. Plunk it onto a plug of a neck; attach a body shaped like a sausage (more accurately, a “saw-seech,” per my grandmother). Pin on four stubby legs. Expand belly repeatedly. Congratulations: you have built yourself one Sadie.
Some say that the Saturn V Rocket is the loudest sound on earth. But they’re wrong. Cheela runs rings around such spacey sounds.
This post is already off to the wrong start. It’s not fair to say that the population of Suite FIV is down by one. The number “one” cannot convey the colossal tectonic event that has occurred.
Fact: the cats most likely to get FIV are unneutered, rambling, gambling males. Fact: most residents of Suite FIV at Tabby’s Place are now-neutered, reformed rambling, gambling males.
You may have heard reports of a recent luring. Don’t believe a word. Persons were indeed allured, but no luring was required.
I know what you’re thinking; all cats are important. You are, as usual, right. (How do you do that?) But track with me and you’ll agree: some cats are exceptional at being important.
We came. We marched fourth. We marched thirty-first, even. And now, we shall April.