Forever loved: Roxy
When you are a tortoiseshell of vast dignity, you are entitled to your secrets. Roxy gave me permission to tell you one: she loved Neil Young.
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When you are a tortoiseshell of vast dignity, you are entitled to your secrets. Roxy gave me permission to tell you one: she loved Neil Young.
We are not the power. Love is the power. But oh, our light-force! when we turn our faces in its direction.
You never know what you might find at a place called The Golden Nugget. But a certain golden Mullet can assure you: you will find more than you expect.
What if you just can’t do it? What if you just can’t ruin your life? Take it from Melee: cats would never even think in these terms.
On a cold spring day, we are the world’s vagabonds. We huddle together on the sharp corner of hope. Our begging bowls are empty, and our eyes are full of tears. We’ve lost two kittens.
There is so much we can’t understand. The strange communion between cats and sinks. The way fear can birth meanness or mercy. The existence of free will. The existence of “Is It Cake?” a program in which persons slice questionable items to determine the presence of pastry. Ourselves. Each other. Cats.
Question: Do cats have a sense of humor? Answer: Yes. Question: Do cats have a good sense of humor? Answer: Of course they do. But they’re not so sure about us.
Tabby’s Place has yet to welcome a cat from Ireland. Lebanon? Legions. Oman, oh yes. Okinawa, you got it. Turkey? Only the perkiest. But not even our Dublin Dudes were actual emissaries from the Emerald Isle.