This is a post I never wanted to have to write. This is a post I “should,” “rationally,” have been long prepared to write.
If you’re reading this post, you’re doing July right. Before you can properly celebrate Independence Day, Bastille Day, and Tapioca Pudding Day, you must know how the cats spent all the days of June.
Cats are capable of great feats. There are, however, certain activities they do not, will not, shall not do. Not for you, not for me, not for QuestLove and all the Roots.
You know that buncha guys. If you were a certain stripe of nerdy, you may have bunched together with that buncha guys. And, like every high school worth its mystery meat, Tabby’s Place has that buncha guys.
Dickens me this: are these the best of times? Are these the worst of times? Or are these, simply, the times of our particular, prosaic, miraculous lives?
We are about a lot of things at Tabby’s Place. We are about love. We are about “the least of these.” We are very much about Veggie Straws, and the color orange, and obscure names for kittens. But we are not, and have frankly never been, about the numbers.
If you are reading this post, I know two things about you with a fair degree of confidence. 1) You are not at Bonnaroo.* 2) You have given to the Linda Fund.
At this precise moment, it is 87 degrees in Ringoes, NJ, with a “RealFeel” of 90. I am not complaining. Neither are the cats. We are desert creatures. We do not beat the heat; we eat the heat. But in the event that you are a tundra creature ruing your sweaty life at this moment, […]
Part of knowing someone — human, feline, or giant iridescent squid — is knowing what makes him angry. In the case of a certain Tabby’s Place Founder & Executive Director, one guaranteed angry-maker is Three’s Company.