Shaky stitches
I want to tell you about two young men. I want to tell you about a world at war. I want to tell you about peace that passes understanding. I want to tell you about the pieces of peace that we’re stitching together, together.
Get it all
One hundred eons ago, there was a restaurant near Tabby’s Place with a menu that touched the divine. There were no fewer than twelve salads, all of which had names like This Train Is Bound For Glory and Every Living Creature Is A Galaxy and The Rocket Man Has The Master Plan. (I swear I […]
Multiple extractions
It’s a song oft-sung at Tabby’s Place: “Insert-Cat-Name-Here had a dental today… …and there were multiple extractions.”
In the final analysis
I’ve lived enough lives to know: you do not need to fall prostrate before anyone who begins sentences with, “In the final analysis…” If it’s final, it’s not much of an analysis. And if it can be analyzed, it’s not a living mystery (e.g. you, me, the cats, the trees, the stars, Paul Rudd).
Secret reasons
If you’ve ever sobbed your way through Charlotte’s Web, you are familiar with the tender mind of E.B. White. Heartfelt children’s author, gifted New Yorker editor, and co-author of a definitive volume on writing style, ol’ E.B. is sadly underappreciated for his greatest accomplishment. E.B. White is Extra Bonus catlike.
Losing our marbles
Catching me in the throttling throes of grief, a well meaning person once said, “well, I hope you’re a little less sad each day.” I told her that I earnestly hoped the same. But you know and I know that’s not how sorrow works.
Meteor man
Place your hand on your heart. Place your heart on the line. Find your place in the great symphony of things, and tell me: do you have it all once-and-for-all-ed up? Flash…does not.
Epilogues: February 2022
The world is weeping. Our brothers and sisters are shuddering in subways, crawling across borders, bearing their children and their grandparents and their ragged animals on their backs. Are we supposed to bask in jolly cat happenings at such a time as this?
Redeem the day
We think we need a guarantee. What we get is a friend and a new morning. And then we get to do it all over again.
Let everything teach you to love
Not everything that happens is good. Loss lurches across all of our borders. Stores continue selling high-waisted jeans. Mumford and Sons refuses to make new music. Diagnoses drag us through canyons of mud. But everything that happens has the prefix “Professor,” if only we’ll show up for class.