Kevved up
It’s happening, kittens. The cats and the moon are communicating. Conspiring. Collaborating. Celebrating a little too early. How else to explain the coming of Kevin?
Out from under the awning
You can’t wait out your whole life under an awning waiting for the rain to end. I suppose you could, but then you’d miss the ice cream man. Cole would never miss the ice cream man.
Fakers and makers, part II
Humans default to faking it. Cats are incapable of not making it. It’s up to us what we’ll take from all of this. But Obsidian has taken it upon herself to make us better beasties.
Forever loved: Mishush
The world is a lot less stardusted today. A great constellation has fallen: “great,” in every sense except size.
Fakers and makers, part I
Cats: not one of them is faking it, and every single one of them is making it. Us, we’re a bit different. But we can still learn.
Epilogues: May 2022
Are you jumpy, kittens? Does this itchy, agitated world of ours have you jittery about June, and joy’s odds of survival, and the existence of jumping worms that clone themselves? Then you’ve come to the right place.
Seers
There is a reason we flat-iron our fluffy curls and jimmy our gelatin into “control-top” garments and calibrate our colors to the vibe of the moment. There is a reason we rewrite our heartfelt letters and pummel our poetry into prose and hunker in the bunker of all that is safe and beige. The reason […]
Lilies, ravens, and other weak wonderbeasts
There are times when you look like a mighty oak, but if a passerby should sneeze, you would collapse into a molehill. There are times when everyone marvels at you as you manage departments and families and budgets, but what you need more than anything is to play with scissors and construction paper and crayons […]
The Consetta concession
Cats undoubtedly have their concerns: plant-based sausage, the pleasures and pitfalls of nostalgia, the diminishing likelihood of a One Direction reunion. But, by and large, small or large, they are not a species prone to worry. They are, accordingly, a species poised to save us from ourselves.
Wordless
I can’t tell you much about Wordle. Not the game: savage Scrabbler, Boggler, and Bananagrammer though I am, I have no little green and yellow squares to show you. Not the cat: he has arrived just one hour hence. But I can tell you a thing or two about what words can and cannot do.
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