This time last year, many things were different. We didn’t know Bubbles. We didn’t know a thing about Hotline Bling.
Blimey, kittens; it’s another month in the books. Fortunately, this one came in like an Eponine and out like an Armand.
This is essentially a blog by, for and about cats. Which is why I’m here today to talk about terrorism.
Tabby’s Place is a cat sanctuary. It is our mission to rescue cats from hopeless situations. We care for them. We nurture them. We are providing a service for them. But let’s not kid ourselves about who’s really helping who.
We live in a world in which bad things still happen. You don’t need me to tell you this. You only need glance towards Brussels, or Suite FIV, or, sometimes, your own sad heart.
Trigger warning: Controversy ahead. OK, now that the fearful few have left the room… I do not believe in luck.
March is the consummate in-between month. Lion and lamb. Winter and spring. Death and life.
I’m going to tell you a secret. If tortoiseshell cats could sing, they would all be sopranos.
We are connoisseurs of irony at Tabby’s Place. For instance: The cats of Suite B are currently playing with a tiny stuffed George W. Bush.* The cats with inflammatory bowel disease live in our staff lunch room. And cats — or, at least, one cat — can acquire sleep disorders.
Strange, sweet little February, we salute you You gave us conversation hearts. (LUV YA. Mean it.) You gave us political heartburn. You gave us Cake by the Ocean.