T.S. Eliot, who first discovered that every cat has three names, declared April to be “the cruelest month.” Clearly he did not know the names of Mayhem, Crumpet, or Patches.
When life presents us with its greatest challenges, we discover who is up for the challenge of helping us uphold ourselves. Wrapped in difficulty, grief, or stress, it can be hard to look around and identify the communities of care that enwrap us. When challenges arise at Tabby’s Place, nobody even needs to look up. […]
It is a great scandal, but not everyone is equally obsessed with every cat. Fortunately, every cat is flourescently obsessed with catself. And that is sufficient.
It’s the shortest month of one of the longest years since years began. The hour is late. This is no time for half-measures in love. This is no time for scarcity in hair city.
Cats have decreed: you are not too far gone. Cats poke and ponder: perhaps you have not gone far enough. Over the edge. Out of the burrow. Into the fray and the play and the prayer that is life.
Sometimes, before we can go forward, we have to look back. Before we can roll, we need to rock back and forth. Or, even better, pile up rocks like pancakes.
I wish I could tell you why people get mean when they’re really just scared. I wish I could tell you why they don’t write more songs about the smell of thunderstorms. I wish I could tell you why I don’t “get” avocado; no, not even in the form of guac; yes, I have tried […]