Forever Loved: Arnold
They say “only the strong survive.” If that’s true, Arnold would have lived forever.
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They say “only the strong survive.” If that’s true, Arnold would have lived forever.
“How do you remember their names?” “How do you tell them all apart?” They are reasonable questions. Still, I stammer every time. How do you explain how easy it is to know the cats?
He strolls, but he makes someone else do the strolling. He pulls out his hair, but only to confirm he’d be a handsome Sphynx. He’s Arnold, and he makes everything look good.
Today is the day. The world is waiting, breathless, to see what we will decide. We may not know the outcome by the time we go to sleep. Only history can tell if we chose wisely. History, and Olive.
Reality TV is overrated. Too many people, not enough cats. That’s where Tabby’s Place comes in.
Any one day has a way of being something different for all beings. For cats, such days can be wrapped in delicately smoked trout on crunchy crackers, or they can be whipped into a frenzy of furtive, furry activity.
Bear with me a moment, please. I’m trying to wrap my mind around an idea. I asked for it. Literally. Only, what to do with it now that I have been thusly gifted, from my spouse’s own lips, with “Space Cats?”
You were once named for stockings, but your gifts were too big to stuff. You were once known for syrup, but your strength has a side of salt.
November arrives full of “alls.” Yesterday was All Saints Day. (The cats celebrated themselves appropriately.) Today is All Souls Day. (The cats snickered “bless your soul” at us inappropriately.) And tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, we’re lavished with the luscious “alls” of 125 Tabby’s Place residents in all their muchness.