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 […]
My pet monster, part I
Did you know that, in terms of taxonomy, every amiable, shaggy individual on Sesame Street is a member of the genus “monster?” Marcia has never lost sight of this fact, and she meditates on it. Daily.
Get with the program, part II
Continued… Hips’ American adventure began with a bit of repair. Like any hot rod worthy of its flames, the injured cat needed a bit of detailing.
What is the Linda Fund?
What is the Linda Fund? The Linda Fund is the friend who shows up with a torch in your darkness, smiling and calming and kind. The Linda Fund is the answer to questions we’re often too scared to ask. The Linda Fund is the triumph of love over despair. The Linda Fund is happening today.
Get with the program, part I
We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to tell you: there is no regularly scheduled programming. Everyone who’s ever been handed a stiff program in Goudy Old Style font needs to re-learn how to make paper airplanes. And anyone who tells you to “get with the program” needs to remember how to shimmy their Hips.
Zelda and the legend of change
The bonfire-orange leaves do not miss the days they were green. The canyon-throated bullfrog does not wax nostalgic for his polywog past. The muppet-headed Siamese does not lament the loss of her earlier lives. They are all a good deal wiser than we are.
Old cats and wild geese
A goose landed on the spire of my church one morning. And he stayed. And he stayed. And he shouted. And he made me think of Winston, and you, and me.
Forever loved: Bartholomew, ti voglio bene
Tearstained preface: this post, written weeks ago, was not meant to be a “Forever Loved.” Bartholomew, the improbable bard and ballast of the Development Office, was never “meant” to survive past a few weeks…but he did, with tenderness and derring-do. Which meant the blind, deaf seer was never meant to leave us. But that’s what […]