Happy New Year, kittens.

Let us make a pact, today, while we still have confetti in our whiskers and something called “egg nog” in our fridges.

(How did it get there? Who invented it? Why have we never had a Tabby’s Place cat named Nog? I digress.)

Here’s the plan: we will not permit this year to get old.

If we’re going to pull this off, we are going to need 100% participation by the cats.

That should not be a problem. The cats have been “not getting old” ever since they were young.

The leading authorities in “not getting old” are: cats who have been here longer than sliced cheese, persons named Meemaw, and the Rolling Stones. (Physicists doubt the existence of a time before Keith Richards. There is also scientific consensus that he may have invented egg nog, although that is a topic for another time.)

Bacon is so good at not getting old, he greets treats with the awe usually reserved for heavenly bodies. He has never seen meat nuggets and meteors in the same place at the same time, so you will not convince him they are not the same entity.

Steven is so good at not getting old, he rewinds to kittenhood every time someone says “Steeeeeeee-ven” with intent to hug him. Steven remembers when people had to rewind movies if they wanted to watch them again. Steven wants to watch every “today” again, which is why he has yet to turn old on any given “tomorrow.”

Olive is so good at not getting old, she will use words that will make all the Meemaws blush if you call her “old.”

Bello and CoraLee are so good at not getting old, they got adopted. Together. (All photos here courtesy of their AwesomeAdopters, who are living miracles disguised as human beings.)

Brownie is so good at not getting old, he will gaze at you as though you are either the love of his life or a bologna sandwich (these may be overlapping categories), until the sheer force of his fondness smooths out your wrinkles and turns you back into a kitten, at least inside your soul, which is where “old” either happens or it doesn’t.

And we’re not about to let that happen, are we, kittens?

So let us remind this year that we are glad it came. Let us toast “todays” like victories, for they are where the cats and miracles live.

And if we ever forget how much light is left in “old” places, we need only remember December 2025:

Arrived: Smudge, Amigo, Leela, Lucy, Annette, Merv, Tommy, Ethel, Hannah, Stormiee, Pluto, Fazio, Fabio, Mama Kitty

Adopted: Humperdink & Pudge (together); Moose & Bobbi (together); Harry & Marv (together); Bello & CoraLee; Anne & Acadia (together); Maple & Syrup (together); Daisy; Sadie; Pancake; Astro; Dorian; Louie the Lip; Polaroid; Midnight; Midge; Chad; Jam; Mothman; Jackalope; Teddy; Danny

Returned: Midge (but then readopted)

Forever Foster Fabulosity: Moo Moo, with angel Lisa

Promoted to the Lobby: Leo

Promoted to the Community Room: Sandy, Annette

Promoted to the Lounge: Sootie

Promoted to Heaven: Moo Moo (Forever Loved coming soon), Stefan, Ethel

Stuff We Learned: Every so-called ending births a big litter of beginnings. The words “too late” are just a dare to prove gloom wrong. It is not a double-dog dare. It is a hundred-fifty-cat dare. Bring on 2026. Bring on twelve months of miracles. Bring on the age of astonishment. Hold the nog.

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