There are many ways to mask your identity. One of the most effective: surround yourself with idiots who can’t even recognize you undisguised.
I had no idea, when I wrote Puzzle’s piece, that last week would be his last. “Here I am!” he cried, triumphant, to the end. “Yet I live!” he sings now, even now.
Certain cats have always been here. Before the foundation of Tabby’s Place was lain; before life dragged any of us bedraggled humans onto the scene; long before there was even a Ringoes, NJ, they were here. Can you blame us for wanting them to always be here?
Confession: I err on the side of the positive. Perhaps pathologically positive. I will find a way to say something good about vegan cheese, and Cats, and the Department of Motor Vehicles. I will believe there are honest, honorable politicians. I will write, with all my heart, that “Scarywinkle” no longer deserves her nickname.
New Year has passed. New Year has not yet arrived. Ronnie knows how to rock the in-between.
The cats are all for big plans and big dreams. But the cats hope you’ll also remember to keep things little in 2020.
It’s Christmas Day, the heart of Chanukah, and very near to the shortest sliver of the year. 2019 is leaving us, yet not without light.
This is a night of waiting. Yearning. Keeping our watch of wondering love.
Ever wonder why such a high percentage of Christmas cards show just the wise men? No Nativity; no angels; just three dudes in the desert. Not to knock those madcap magi, but wouldn’t you love a card depicting the sky filled end-to-end with angels? C’mon. ANGELS. AN ENTIRE SKY FILLED WITH ANGELS.