Cheese rolls
It has come to my attention that, every spring, those buttoned-up and staid Brits engage in a sport befitting crumpets and Queens. They chase a nine-pound ball of cheese down a steep hill.*
Bedazzling
Good things often come back. Cyndi Lauper. Neon. Princess phones. Bedazzlers. But sometimes, good things come back when they should have stayed right where they were. Boy Bands: in the 90s. Lunch: in your stomach. Cats: in their adoptive homes.
Love+
The FIV-indeterminate kittens have an announcement to make. Thus saith the orinch herd: the results are in. Sort of.
One diet to rule them all
We thought she could do it. We sincerely believed Natalie could play nice even without Prozac. We were a bunch of dunderheads.*
Halladaze
Ever have a Crazy-Making Thing make you grateful? Ever have a Crazy-Making Thing make you stop and realize: Waitasecond. This Crazy-Making Thing should have happened to me approximately 1,000 times every week since birth, and this is the first time. Which means I’ve been spared approximately 1,664,000 crazy-making things. Praise the Lord and pass the […]
Henricum
They say you can’t make everyone like you. They say you can’t like everyone you meet. They say a lot of things. Hank says: bollocks.
Rhapsody in Bleu
There’s ample room for many voices at Tabby’s Place. Loud ones. Proud ones. Tenors. Talkers. And even the ones whose songs surprise us.
The united suites
If Tabby’s Place is a sovereign nation, the cat suites are more like independent republics than states. There is no Congress at Tabby’s Place. We are bereft of representative feline government. Suite B cats stay within the bounds of Suite B, and Suite A cats patrol the borders of Suite A, and never the twain […]
Swinging on a star
Cats, being thoroughly magical on their own merits, have no need of accessories like fairy dust or pixies or wands or wings. But if they had time for such things, Tinkerbell would be singing and swinging and making merry to the tuneful stylings of Jiminy Cricket right about now. When you wish upon a star, […]
Mr. Blue Skies
Ever have a morning when the clock radio wakes you up to MacArthur Park,* the toast is burnt, and you haven’t done laundry in so long you have to wear the emergency backup underwear? Cats don’t. Patrick most assuredly doesn’t.