I’ve just realized (yet) another way we differ from cats. We are continually, perpetually, all of us, defending our lives.
There’s a hole in the world today. If you trace the outline, that hole has many colors, many toes…and it’s being filled to the brim with too many tears.
I’m primed to be a “fixer,” to a fault. I have a feeling readers of this blog can identify, big-hearted bunch that you are. If someone I love (of any species) is suffering, my first, fiercest impulse is to throw on my cape and fix. Fixing, or at least flapping about in a frenzy of […]
Jonathan said something both ironic and profound this week. Actually, he said many such things. But the particular Rosenberg koan that comes to mind today is this: “We gotta put a moratorium on death.”
You did not ask the cats for advice for what to do with yourself this Labor Day. Fortunately, cats like giving unsolicited advice.
“They” tell me it is now Meteorological Autumn. “They” say kitten season is on the wane. But the great, proverbial “they” don’t know a thing about the endless summer of cats.
You’ll often hear it said at Tabby’s Place that a cat was returned “for no fault of his own.” Humans mystify. Grace withholds judgment. So we simply focus on the innocence of the innocent: the cat. But, there are exceptions. Todd was returned to us this summer…for every fault of his own.
If you want to be with it, go little and local. Local produce. Local economy. Local artists. Think global, act local, be hipstery in the happiest ways. Lucky you: Tabby’s Place has a bumper crop of artisinal organic heirloom cats.
It happens every August. No sooner does the Fireball come down, than my spirits swoop. Fortunately this year, there’s another sort of white-hot flame.
A lot can change when you’re little. A lot can change when you’re learning. But far more than a lot will change when you’re loved.