Jam with Mr. Ham
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.
What are you about?
What is this all about? We are in the season of moonshadows and miracles. I do not mean summer.
GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL
What is the goal? Where is the end of the rainbow? Why is there always a carrot on the end of the stick, when it could be a brick of Spam?
Epilogues: July 2023
As August ambushes July with a Super Soaker, we’re feeling ruffled in Ringoes. Cats are reasonable. They do not expect life to be a constant stream of meat products. They accept that sometimes the best they can do is a burger made of twenty slices of cheese. But no one at Tabby’s Place can accept […]
Dippity!
At life’s peak moments, classic cries split the sky: “Holy moly!” “Oh my stars!” “Zoiks!” “SHMOLDIE!”
To kiss the fragile things
The world tells us they are less valuable. We set their price above rubies.
Superbloom
“It will be seventy-five degrees and sunny every day, then rain softly all night. Everyone will be ensured a universal basic allowance of ravioli.” This was my old friend Rick’s campaign promise. Sunflower would not have voted for him.
En famille
If I didn’t know better, I’d think Simone had a side hustle. There is increasing evidence that our lithest tortie is selling handicrafts.
It happened
It happens. It happens, and it happens, and it happens. It happens, and it happened, and it will happen again, as long as we are brave and outrageous. Never bet against the brave and outrageous.
No gutterballs
We prefer to compare ourselves to unicorns and poetry, or at least something as honorable as string cheese. But if we’re being honest, we are the living embodiment of bowling alley bumpers. We should add this to our résumés proudly.
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