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.)
Cats tolerate so much that they cannot understand. They put up with our insistence upon pants, superfluous expenditures better directed to dairy. They do not give us a hard time for having meetings when we could be laying on the floor. They respect our mysterious need to watch strangers throw balls into hoops and nets. […]
Sometimes a typo is truer than it knows. Moo Moo was formally “moved to the Lobby.” But Moo Moo was more accurately “loved to the Lobby.”