I wish, with all my heart, that I did not have to write this post. Our beloved Lily has left this world.
I’ve always liked the expression “he swears like a longshoreman.” My liking hasn’t been tempered by the fact that I rarely swear and have never met any longshoremen. Or at least, I didn’t until Burdock came along.
The Royal Wedding: a big deal. The hats worn at the Royal Wedding: an even bigger deal. But true royalty? For that, you’ll have to come to the great metropolis of Ringoes, NJ.
Not every cat has an epic oratorio bearing his name. Then again, not every cat is Elijah.
Laurel and Hardy used to lament getting into “another fine mess.” The great wordsmith of our time, Ke$ha, sings of being a “filthy hot mess.” And, this week, one of the awesomest AwesomeAdopters since Mrs. TwinkieCupcake has made a major mess of the social network in Suite A.
True story: true love lasts. And when it’s hopelessly-devoted-to-you kinda love, it lasts forever. So it’s only fitting that we (you, me, Tashi, Bialy) are still very much in lurrrrrve with the dancing ocelot, Molly. Special thanks to her forever MollyMama for writing this glorious, picture-full update. Prepare to swoon…and dance.
There’s pretty much nothing sub-stellar about kittens. Well…maybe there’s one wretched exception: they are so blasted fragile. As the always-honest Dr. C told me a few years ago, it’s rare to have a kitten season where you don’t “lose some.”
I’m not sure who said it first. But somewhere in the last few weeks, several of us foolish human beans have dared to remark, “It’s awfully late in kitten season for us to have no kittens.” Foolish, foolish human beans.
If this post’s subject line were a TV show, you just know Jonathan would be our Captain Picard. Only with hair. And a tendency to use the word “shmoldie.” But this is even better: you have an opportunity to help the cats and yourself thanks to the amazing team at Next Generation Trust Services.