Tabby’s Place has a veteran diva worthy of the great opera houses of Sydney, Australia, Milan, Italy, and New York City.
When the Bad Times are over and the Good Times begin, everything is immediately delightful. All the anxiety evaporates. Worry is terminated. Mirth covers the earth. Right. This may be true if you are a rag doll, or a polyester cat with plastic eyes.
Oh, kittens! If ever we needed cats, it’s now. We are in Olympics withdrawal. Target is trying to boondoggle us into believing we are behind on holiday shopping. And no matter where we hide, it is still an election year.
If you’re reading this post, you’re doing July right. Before you can properly celebrate Independence Day, Bastille Day, and Tapioca Pudding Day, you must know how the cats spent all the days of June.
Part of knowing someone — human, feline, or giant iridescent squid — is knowing what makes him angry. In the case of a certain Tabby’s Place Founder & Executive Director, one guaranteed angry-maker is Three’s Company.
By the time you read this post, nerd prom will be over, the madding crowd will be far away, and a big green chap and his gangsters will be avenging on our behalf.* But much more importantly, things will have happened. They will have happened…because cats made them happen.
Sometimes it seems like this old world’s tree is being shaken down to its roots. Nepal. Baltimore. Yemen. Leaves scattered to the four winds. When the foundations are crumbling, what can the righteous do? Borrow the gaze of smaller, sager creatures.
OK, winter, we get it: you’re stronger than us. You dang near broke Boston. March came in like a lion and out like a friggin’ manticore. Yes, you’re stronger than us. You’re stronger…but we’re cuter. And scrappier. And we have much, much better musical taste.