There will never, ever be another Grady. But, this spring, my heart has split open in a way it hadn’t done since last July.
I almost titled this post “Meet the Community Cats #9.” But that’s not quite right; you’ve already met Boots. You just don’t know him in his Community Cat existence yet.
In the immortal words of Kenny Rogers, you gotta know when to hold ’em and know when to fold ’em. And, today, I don’t mind in the least your sayin’ that Tabby’s Place is out of Aces.
I’m convinced of it: each cat rolls around in a giant vat of Awesome before coming to Tabby’s Place. Although we have zero non-awesome cats, there are more varieties of awesome than there are flavors of ramen (which is also rather awesome…but I digress). Some awesome cats sparkle, some shimmer…and one opalesces.
Every so often, we get to welcome a group of cats who are so much greater than the sum of their parts. The Islip eight. The sweet Southern sixteen. And, now, the Big Apple babies.
Who knows what dreams may be had under the couch? All I can say is that they must be sweet, because all those days spent under the couch and dreaming have led to some stellar waking hours for Eloise and Lady Grey.
He was already a living legend for his colossal paws, but now the mighty Milo has a new claim to fame infamy. The big guy with the enormous attitude has been…well, ex-Communi(ty)cated.
My heart is aching. I suppose the loss of a 21-year-old cat shouldn’t be a shock, but I was in no way prepared to lose Tabby’s Place’s reigning “elder statescat,” the unsinkable Hillary. Volunteer Larry, who has been devoted to his “sweetheart” Hillary for years now, was kind enough to pen this tribute to our […]
Funny thing about christening Adoption Room #1 “Suite Marmalade.” That title of great orangeness has turned into a self-fulfilling prophecy…and the more orange things change, the more orange things stay the same.
With all apologies to the Oscar-nominated tour de force, our hearts belong to only one Precious at Tabby’s Place. And, I’m afraid, the latest news is almost enough to send us human Precious-adorers scuttling into a corners, rubbing our hands together with a glazed look in our eyes, and muttering, “My Precious…”