It was a terrible week.
It was a wonderful week.
It’s not over yet.
I’m gonna tell you something. You can write it down and use it, but you have to give me credit. Here goes: life is complicated.
The same person can be a sweet soul and a mountain of mad mad magma.
The same cat can slash you and love you and do it all over again.
The same week, day, hour can contain the greatest peace and the most searing suffering.
Nothing is all one thing.
So this week has been. The same seven-day span that stole Shrimp and Scallop and Barnacle brought brilliant revelations and revolutions of the Rebel-rousing variety.
You’ll recall Rebel, that aptly-named enormity in Suite B. The proverbial bull in the china closet would be a ballerina compared to this cat, a hulking wonder who hounded everykitty in his orbit.
Rebel was a mush-monster.
Rebel was a real monster.
Rebel wanted to monster-mash all cats ALL ALL ALL THERE CAN ONLY BE ONE AND HIS NAME BE REBEL.
Rebel was happy. Sometimes.
Rebel was restless. Often.
Rebel wanted more.
The collective cathood of Suite B wanted less of Rebel.
So it was like a warm dawn rose over Tabby’s Place when the revelation struck this week. A wonderful local couple was seeking an indoor-outdoor cat, of the caliber they could love and lavish and also trust to tackle the barn life with brave joy.
A wonderful weirdo of a cat was seeking such a setting.
The time for Rebelations and Rebolutions was ripe. Immediately upon arrival at his new home, Rebel peed, ate, and proclaimed himself emperor. (Check him out in his getting-to-know-my-new-home crate. Rebel rejects the typical “stressed to be in a new setting” stuff of lesser felines.)
No week, no day, no hour, no soul, is all bad. I ask you, I beseech you, to rebel against anyone who would tell you otherwise.
Find the good. Roar your revelations. Where there’s life, there’s hope. And, take it from Rebel: life is best lived large and loud.