You can count on Sweetie, you know. This may come as a surprise, since Sweetie doesn’t even want you to count the rings on his tail. He is timid and ponderous, bashful and bewildered. That is precisely why you can count on Sweetie. You just need to learn what Sweetie knows.
At fifty-five miles an hour, you would scarcely see her. Was that a cat, or someone’s discarded sweatshirt? Was there breath in that bundle, or just speckles and bones? The world drives too fast. Only love is slow enough to see the sparkle.
I am not supposed to be writing this, and you are not supposed to be reading it. But we are not in control.
The world would be so simple if everyone was only one thing. The world would be so simple, small, and sad.
He came into this kingdom in April, not August. He pronounced himself a mouse, not a manticore. But a brown tabby can only hide his majesty for so long.
If you are lucky, you will love many Lindas. If you are more than lucky, you will be a Linda.
To love Angelo was not to love “a cat.” It was not even to love “a white cat of ample size.” To love Angelo was to love several smiling universes, smuggled into one feline form.
Patches is not yet one hundred eight years old. Theodosia is actually pretty close, but if you tell her I said that, I will never live to reach forty-four years old.
I had no reason to be angry with Garth Brooks. We have no reason to be angry with adopters who can’t keep their cats. But reason drops the ball, and love is not a game.
Although none of them were yet born when it was released, the Tabby’s Place cats have made Outkast’s “Hey Ya!” their solemn anthem. Specifically: “Now I want to see y’all on y’all baddest behavior.”