His name is Doc(tor) Watson. He’s interested in things. He’s not a real doctor, but he is a real Watson.*
There are Christmas miracles: “yes! Home Depot had one last Chia Uncle Si in the back!” Then there are Christmas miracles: “Twilight is home.”
They say that, on Christmas Eve at midnight, the animals talk. They also say that putting crunchy peanut butter in someone else’s sandwich is not a war crime. They say that the Elf on the Shelf is not absolutely terrifying. They say a lot of things.
The following comes courtesy of our outrageously awesome volunteer Sue, with my gratitude. – AT We are Lights: In Appreciation of the Volunteers and Staff at Tabby’s Place
Warning: your IQ is about to slump precipitously. Promise: it is going to be absolutely worth it.
Every once in a great while, you feel the tectonic plates of life shift. It may start with a groan or a whimper, but the next thing you know the continents are different, and there are mountains where oceans once stretched. I am, of course, talking about cats.
Mashed taters: eaten. Great uncles and aunties: kissed. November: accomplished.
There was a time when Tabby’s Place had a full-size Christmas tree in our lobby, all aglitter with sparkly bits and bobs and luminous light. There was also a time when pterodactyls soared above the earth. And then came the Community Cats.