You can cram a lot of starshine into three and a half years. That doesn’t mean three and a half years is anywhere near enough.
Tabby’s Place is blessed in many ways. But as of this afternoon, we are woefully short in a key commodity: cats whose names end with the seventh letter of the Greek alphabet.
Be it known: Tabby’s Place cats will no longer settle for just any old cheezburger. Now that they know about Das Burger and The Bravest Man In All The Land, their standards are permanently raised…through the roof.
Some days the Tabby’s Place lobby feels like an outtake from a Tim Burton movie, or maybe a circus. Or the Island of Misfit Toys. Make that all of the above. This has never been truer than since wild, wondrous Gabriella came to town.
It was a typical afternoon at Tabby’s Place. Cats were sleeping. Cats were playing. Cats were eating. Humans were talking about Dwight D. Eisenhower.
I’ve gotta believe there really is someone for everyone. An Edith for every Archie. A Jack for every Rose. A pea for every carrot. An AwesomeAdopter for every timid, kooky, quirky cat.
If you have even the faintest idea what a “gmork” is, you just earned 100,000,000,000,000 bonus brownie points. And if you have even the faintest idea what a “gmork” is, you know that no cat, anywhere, has anything in common with one.
When it comes to meows, loud is impressive. Loud is good. Loud is Green Day. Loud is Hawkeye. But it takes something more than volume to anchor an epic anthem. Think Bach. Think Pink Floyd. Think Neil Diamond. Think…Russell.
I wish, with all my heart, that I did not have to write this post. Our beloved Lily has left this world.
I’ve always liked the expression “he swears like a longshoreman.” My liking hasn’t been tempered by the fact that I rarely swear and have never met any longshoremen. Or at least, I didn’t until Burdock came along.