Smokin’
The first time I met Smokey, I did not exactly meet Smokey. I beheld Smokey beholding Smokey in the eyes of a beholder. This is the ideal introduction to Smokey.
The first time I met Smokey, I did not exactly meet Smokey. I beheld Smokey beholding Smokey in the eyes of a beholder. This is the ideal introduction to Smokey.
He would drive a hatchback, not a Lamborghini. He would eat boxed mac n’ cheese, not truffled oysters. But Gomez‘s billionaire mustache will always give him away.
There have been many father figures at Tabby’s Place. But there has only ever been one Poppa. Maybe two.
You wily time-travelers, what are we going to do with you? Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.
If you would like to get people agitated, ask if they vote Democrat or Republican. If you would like to instigate a riot, ask if they prefer Wawa or Quick Chek.
How do you explain five impossible adoptions? There’s only one answer. They fell for the V.
Gasp at fireworks. Squiggle veggie dogs with catsup. Frolic through the sprinkler. Give thanks. Just remember: at Tabby’s Place, every day is Memorial Day.
Editor’s note: Oh, dear ones. If ever you chose the right day to visit this blog, today is that day. You are about to hear from Carrot‘s new mom. You are about to weep and cheer and quite possibly dance. You are about to believe in love more than ever before. XO, AT