Today is the first day of winter…meteorological winter. The cats are celebrating accordingly.
Sometimes Gratuitous Cat Photos move. Sometimes they meow.
Cats do not ford rivers.* Cats do not gas up the car. To Grandmother’s house they do not go. But they travel, my word do they travel.
Tiffany’s knows it. Macy’s knows it. All the elves and turkeys and abominable snowmen know it. That’s right, my little sugarplums: it’s the most magical time of the year…GCP Season at Tabby’s Place.
Can I ask you something? (As Jonathan would remark at this point, “Um, ya just did.”) Seriously, though. Are you feeling a little emotional right now?
She’s not gonna be our president, guys. It’s over. She lost. Sable #TinyTail2016 Rosenberg was not elected.
This is a love letter. Most who know me know that I love cats. Those who know me well know that I love old cats. This is a love letter to the old cats.
To state the obvious: this has been a brutal season for bleeding hearts. If you’re feeling a bit bloodied by it all, this post is for you.
Time expands and contracts in the presence of someone you love deeply. Expands: How has Adelaide only been with us a year and a half, when clearly it was all our lives? Contracts: How could we only have days left?
October and all of its surprises are in the books. Cubs in the Series. Cats in girdles. Swiss-cheesey holes in undisclosed locations.