What shall we say of Coconut? She is too young for pina coladas, although she will probably get carded all her life. She bears little resemblance to the Hostess confection, although pink is her color. She has not been shredded, although life’s teeth certainly tried.
Every cat at Tabby’s Place is an expert. We are packed to the gills with authorities, on topics ranging from parmigiana to campaign finance reform. But there are experts, there are authorities, and then there are scholars.
Editor’s note: This is the second in a series of posts in which we hand you our holiday wish list and stare into your eyes until you are uncomfortable. Hopefully, uncomfortable enough to give us what we ask. I am once again asking you to break our hearts.
Today is the day. The world is waiting, breathless, to see what we will decide. We may not know the outcome by the time we go to sleep. Only history can tell if we chose wisely. History, and Olive.
“His name is Mister Man. He is twelve years old and has diarrhea.” Is this any way to get introduced at a dinner party?
Checkers would never tell you this himself. But with tears in our eyes and white fur on our jeans, we need the world to know. Checkers was a king.
Things are about to get personal. We’re going to look in your eyes and read you our holiday wish list. We’re not going to ask you for a trip to Paris or a piece of the moon. We’re going to ask you to break our hearts.
Some days were Smarties, and some were nefarious Necco wafers. Some cats let us dress them up in our love, and others let us dress them up like iridescent snails. But for all its ups and downs, at Tabby’s Place, October is always a treat.
“Don’t call me a saint. I don’t want to be dismissed that easily.” – Dorothy Day “Call me anything you like. I’ll take care of not getting dismissed.” – Tucker
When someone tells you they don’t like cats, you have two options. You can call the police. Or you can ask them, “why?” (While dialing the police.)