November has a rickety reputation among cats. Braggarts belch about turkeys, but no Butterballs roll into the Tabby’s Place lobby. (Prescott checked under all the chairs. None.) There are credible rumors of something entitled “stuffing,” but limited evidence beyond garlicky human kisses. It’s almost enough to make a cat stop giving thanks.
Age can make you outrageous. Age should make you outrageous. But I have a feeling Buster did not wait for senior status to become sensational.
Her name is Nola, not Lola (Lola lives in Medical with Angelo, but hers is another story). Nola is not a showgirl. She’s a Tabby’s Place cat. Yellow feathers are present only as accessories to cat toys. She refuses to wear any dresses no matter where they are cut down to. Neither will she merengue […]
Fenek was one small cat in one rural New Jersey room. He was the size of the entire world, and his universe was ever expanding.
How many days have you lived today? How many of them were holidays? How many of them were Derbish days?
In the literary realm, “ekphrastic” refers to poetry inspired by a visual image. In the Tabby’s Place realm, “ekphrastic” refers to everything we do at all times.
It may be Black Friday (in the US, at least), and there may be a lot of attention on bloated tummies and massive sales. Not at Tabby’s Place (except maybe the slightest loosening of waistbands). Fridays are days, just like every day, for focusing attention on cats. The FIV+ crew think they deserve extra special […]
It’s Thanksgiving at Tabby’s Place. It’s the fourth Thursday in November. These facts do not entirely overlap.
We come to the twilight of the year. Will we mourn the sun, or turn our chins up to the skylights? Will we lament leaves and lilies, or ascend the bare hills? In short: will we be humans, or will we be cats?