We can’t control it. Cats can’t control it. “Control” is a comedic concept at times like these. The typhoon tickles itself, bursting into laughter. The tidal wave breaks the news, and it is more wonderful than our plans. Poncey and Andy get adopted together, and we’re surprised to find ourselves surprised.
We get more than we pay for at Tabby’s Place. But some days, we wish the price was not so high.
Once in a generation, a word is coined to enrich the human condition. One lean addition to the lexicon illuminates the mysteries of existence. The great term of our time is “derpy.”
She was the girl with no name. When no one can call you, anyone can devour you.
Atari was born c. 1972. Atari means “to hit a target.” Atari is associated with good luck.
Do you ever dream? Do you ever dream the sorts of dreams that make your toes twitch and your whiskers flicker?
Bodies are despotic toddlers. While lovers and dreamers pluck harps about hearts, atria and ventricles are stubbornly physical. No volume of poetry can coax the body out of being so dang…bodily.
When you are among friends, you can sing every song you know. When you are among friends, you can swell to the full size of truth. When you are among friends, you are not worried what the X-ray will reveal.
Working at Tabby’s Place, your heart is a jingle ball. Your friends will get adopted, and you’ll be slammed into the baseboards, ringing “oh no! Oh yes!” Your friends will pass away, and you’ll splinter into shards, wondering if you can ever sing again. Your friends will become your best friends, and you’ll be grateful […]
Speaking strictly for the bipeds, we have a problem. We’re proud of it, which only gives it bigger muscles. We are afraid of ceasing to spin and ceasing to exist. We are afraid of ceasing. We are afraid.