What if nobody knew your birthday?
What if nobody knew your birthday? Would you never celebrate? Or would you continually celebrate? Would you cease to exist? Or would you exist at ten times your actual size?
Joys and concerns
What if we all sat around the fireplace and pulled oysters and pearls from our week? The cats would strongly prefer that we pull all the catfish out of all the bayous and dance like Kokopelli around the bonfire, but they’ll accept this pale substitution.
What Polly sees
I love Polly. It’s true. I love Polly, and I don’t care who knows. Wait, that’s not quite right. I love Polly, and I want everyone to know, so that you’ll all love her, too.
At the knee of a wise adoptee: Diane and infinite betterability
There are always things you can do to make yourself feel better. Anyone who tells you otherwise is lying, wrong, and/or has never touched an actual cat.
The sweet moment
I am good at some things: coining band names, remembering obscure theological miscellany, matching scrunchies to appropriate outfits. I am bad at many things: Carcassonne, remembering that “less is more,” remaining in the present moment. Cats are good at just about everything, but especially that last item.
Epilogues: September 2022
Summon the cymbals and tympanis of autumn. This, kittens, was The Month. I don’t mean the month in which fall fell into place, although that’s grand. I don’t mean the month in which the universe bestowed us with Snoop Loopz cereal, although that’s transcendent. I don’t mean the month in which Tabby’s Place hosted both […]
On the fringes
If you’re a cinnamon roll, the center is the most important part. If you’re a human or a cat or a carousel, you’d be wise to hug the fringes.
Repaint the cave
If you’ve survived long enough to read this sentence, then you, my dear, are a storyteller. And if you’ve survived elegantly, you know when to share your pen with the nearest cat.
Far out
Cats have decreed: you are not too far gone. Cats poke and ponder: perhaps you have not gone far enough. Over the edge. Out of the burrow. Into the fray and the play and the prayer that is life.
My pet monster, part II
Continued from yesterday… Seasons are inexorable, and a multi-pack of autumns and springs conspired to carry Marcia back to Tabby’s Place. This time, she had been slapped with the unsavory Post-Its reading “history of inappropriate elimination” and “caution: aggressive.” This time, she was not small. But she was not about to let that convince her […]