Let’s not be too hard on this planet. It may be responsible for low-rise jeans, halitosis, and individually wrapped cheese slices. But it also gave us Dolly Parton, chickpeas, and cats who celebrate Bastille Day. Or at least one. And he happens to be ours.
We will not be covering the US Presidential Election on this blog. This is a selfish decision on my part, I know. But my hobbies include “avoiding panic attacks” and “not getting fired,” so here we are. Also, the cats’ preferred candidate already dropped out, by whom of course I mean Hulk Hogan. We will, […]
There is a time to spin, and a time to sprawl. A time to toil, and a time to turn into a tide-pool of molasses. A time to care, and a time to care less. A time for acid rock, and a time for acedia…feline edition.
I will not geek out over Bastille Day. I will not geek out over Bastille Day. Je ne vais pas… …C’EST MAGNIFIQUE! Nous avons des chatons nommes JAVERT, MARIUS, FANTINE, et GAVROCHE! OUI, JE CRIE!
My cantaloupe Casanova, I should have known you’d break my heart. Being the color of gold bullion was not enough to keep you in the Development Department. You were always bound for greater things.
Winter straggles, and we sigh. But into the bony bramble comes a plump promise. Into the wizened cold comes one purple-green day. Into our leanest moment comes the largesse of cats. The largest cats.
On this blog, we regularly discuss ways in which we aspire to be more like the cats. They are our swamis, our sherpas, our saints and our scholars. Except when they most decidedly are not.
Sing to me, oh resplendent reader. What are the lyrics running like children through your mind-yard today? Are you sure you meant to open the fence?
Oh my goodness. Listen up, kittens. I have very big news. I’m pretty sure I’ve found the single most catlike man who ever trod the earth.