In Roman numerals, “C” indicates one hundred. In Ringoes, New Jersey, “Cici” indicates one hundred percent. As in, perfect.
Good morning, dear Gigi. Forgive my peasant ways. Here I am, rushing in on a first-name basis, wearing a sweatshirt with a marinara stain from 2007, forgetting to curtsy. I’m not even sure what title befits your dignity. Should I address you as Your Eminence? Is it Your Grace? Or may I call you Geege?
At Tabby’s Place, building community is highly cherished. In this very special building, cats and people come together to create a community like no other.
This is not a hobby. This is not a game. This is Scrabble, and all his letters come down to Y-O-U.
“Oh, sweetheart, you go first.” “Tell me what you need. Tell me who made you cry. Tell me everything.” “Me? Don’t you worry about me. I’m not hungry.” Pancake said it with a smile, because she meant it from her heart.
How can I welcome people to Tabby’s Place without your help, Theodosia? You were my co-conspirator, my hidden pearl, and the other half of my comedy duo. The much better half.
Brave little moonchild, how I yearn to be like you. I will never have your feathery silk coat, all shimmering sable. Yours alone is the lunar energy that whirls you like joy’s dervish. But, Luna, if you teach me even a fraction of your courage, I may yet learn to shine.
There are always some changes going on at Tabby’s Place. With around 150 cats onsite, and many with advanced needs, change is par for the course.
Joy cannot have cookies. Joy cannot have crackers. Joy cannot have crunchies, munchies, or any of the niblets that most cats consider non-negotiable. And none of this can jolt Joy’s joy.
World leaders, policymakers, miscellaneous ice cream persons and yak herders, may we have your attention? We realize you are occupied with a world of grief and war. The sorrows seem intractable. Love limps along. But today, on International Women’s Day, we would like to submit our answer to the planet’s problems. Put a woman in […]