Holy moly, humans. We’re a holey bowl of needers, aren’t we? Fragile doilies. Patchwork jeans. Slim slices of Swiss. But we are surrounded by creatures who consider themselves the living equivalents of chunk cheese. They are more than happy to patch our holes with melty mercy.
Cats do not entertain our view of failure. This is appropriate, since no cat since the dawn of the species has experienced a single failure.
Where did you come by it? You know you have it. It’s the fire in your belly. It’s the lilac in your garden. It’s the Zebra Cake in your pantry. It’s — although you would never personally use this expression for it — your “overabundance of empathy.” It’s your greatest strength, your greatest trial, and […]
She has come to the riverside. She has run free and naked from her armor. She ain’t gonna study war no more.
My cantaloupe Casanova, I should have known you’d break my heart. Being the color of gold bullion was not enough to keep you in the Development Department. You were always bound for greater things.
Dancing girl, you are the first of your kind. You have everybody talking, twitching, asking. Your answer to every question is “yes.”
I just drank a soda that was “transformation flavored.” But if it’s growth I’m after, I should have just consulted Pickles Rosenberg, LSW.
There is a note on my desk reading, “Everything is really, truly OK.” You might say we whisper this over every Tabby’s Place cat. That would be half the story.
When things go south, as they often do, it’s easy to feel like a stumped, stooped street slug. But South and Hope belong together. Just ask stoop child Charles.