Epilogues: March 2022
From where I sit, legs dangling off the edge of the world, ready to be caught by 120 strong cats, I can tell you the following with a high measure of confidence: We have had ourselves a capital-M Month.
From where I sit, legs dangling off the edge of the world, ready to be caught by 120 strong cats, I can tell you the following with a high measure of confidence: We have had ourselves a capital-M Month.
We’re at that time of year when weight obsession — following the glut of year-end and start of the year festivities — has wasted away to practically nothing. We’re on the cusp of the time of the year when the full girth of weight obsession will begin again, as we move past thinking of warming […]
You, the radiant creature reading these words, may have any number of hats or titles or vocations or stations. You may be a Dunkin’ Donuts manager. You may be the sultan of Brunei. You may be a grandpop. You may sell yellow legal pads. You may be skimming this on your phone between lunch and […]
I want to tell you about two young men. I want to tell you about a world at war. I want to tell you about peace that passes understanding. I want to tell you about the pieces of peace that we’re stitching together, together.
One hundred eons ago, there was a restaurant near Tabby’s Place with a menu that touched the divine. There were no fewer than twelve salads, all of which had names like This Train Is Bound For Glory and Every Living Creature Is A Galaxy and The Rocket Man Has The Master Plan. (I swear I […]
PBS has spent almost my entire life reminding us that some television productions and movies are of superior quality to others. Alistair Cooke welcomed us to watch Masterpiece Theater for 21 years, so we could join him in enjoying some of these fine films and series.
It’s a song oft-sung at Tabby’s Place: “Insert-Cat-Name-Here had a dental today… …and there were multiple extractions.”
I’ve lived enough lives to know: you do not need to fall prostrate before anyone who begins sentences with, “In the final analysis…” If it’s final, it’s not much of an analysis. And if it can be analyzed, it’s not a living mystery (e.g. you, me, the cats, the trees, the stars, Paul Rudd).
Once upon a time, in the not-so-very long ago, a reasonably young couple moved to a convenient, in-between-where-they-needed-to-be-separately-during-the-day place. This first shared residence was a very small, very rented, very temporary townhouse that was made complete by the addition of a tortie 15-week-old and a tuxedo 2-year-old of the feline species.
If you’ve ever sobbed your way through Charlotte’s Web, you are familiar with the tender mind of E.B. White. Heartfelt children’s author, gifted New Yorker editor, and co-author of a definitive volume on writing style, ol’ E.B. is sadly underappreciated for his greatest accomplishment. E.B. White is Extra Bonus catlike.