Even when we expect an exit, we’re not entirely ready. Not emotionally. Not viscerally. And not literarily.
Friends who are teachers tell me: the full moon phenomenon is full-stop truth. Small people get hugely bananas under a grinning round glowball. Friends who work at Tabby’s Place agree: small and large and colossal cats are no different.
“Boring cats”? You know and I know that there is no such thing. Except that there is, and it’s a glorious thing.
Lord have mercy. Those words have escaped my lips more times than I can count this week, and not in the “Uncle Jesse from Full House” sense.
Tabby’s Place lives in Ringoes, NJ. Certain winters, Tabby’s Place has fantasized about moving to warmer climes. But, since Tabby’s Place is 7,000 square feet of building, 13 years of history, and 120 cats of stubbornness, Tabby’s Place shall continue to dream on from Jersey.
What I really have to say about this topic is simple: NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!
Supposedly, it’s March hares that are madder than a hatter. But, ’round here, May is the month of mirthful, mind-splattering madness, courtesy of 100,000,000,000 kittens.*
Do you hear that sound? No, it’s not the Horn of Gondor. No, it’s not your mother calling you to dinner. No, it’s not Santa. It’s KITTENS.
I have it on good authority that you are confused. Don’t look so surprised; the cats told me.