I need the world to know. I need the galaxies to know. But most of all, bewildered sprite, I need you to know.
I will not geek out over Bastille Day. I will not geek out over Bastille Day. Je ne vais pas… …C’EST MAGNIFIQUE! Nous avons des chatons nommes JAVERT, MARIUS, FANTINE, et GAVROCHE! OUI, JE CRIE!
Ask the experts: did we fail or prevail at Tabby’s Place this June? Any month involving the Strawberry Moon would seem a guaranteed success. But the experts are not so sure.
Setting: Tabby’s Place Managers’ Meeting. Our Founder & Executive Director assessed the state of the realm: “Walker* sings to all the girls.” Jonathan’s observation was accurate but incomplete.
I sincerely, obnoxiously believe it is totally, terrifyingly all up to me. Clearly I have not yet spent enough time in the presence of cats.
Was it a good day? The cayenne stray died. The wary child chose silence. The meaty beast bared some, not all. Was it a good day?
There was a time when kinfolk cloistered in Brooklyn brownstones or Omaha homesteads, Italian and Swedish singing across the clotheslines and generations. There was a time when Suite C was Suite C, and cats of a certain fatness stuffed the years like rollatini, together for (a) forever or (b) until someone slimmed their way elsewhere. […]
Are you sure you want to join us out here? The twig is thin. The risks are real. The view is magnificent. You are exceedingly welcome here. But Blaze and I want to be sure you know what you’re getting into.
You will have everything you need to thrive, medically and metaphysically. You will never go a day without meat products of some nature. You will not end up alone.
It is June, the season for the footloose. You look down and see flip-flops or gladiator sandals. You may even be wise as a cat, which is to say barefoot. Or you may still have your snowshoes on.