Quite a lot happened this week in history. The Feast Day of St. Francis. The Battle of Largs. The births of Gandhi and Vaclav Havel and Sting. The 14th anniversary of Tabby’s Place.
Far, far be it from me to fat-shame cats. To do that would require (a) that fatness was shameful and (b) that cats were capable of shame.
To state the obvious: this has been a brutal season for bleeding hearts. If you’re feeling a bit bloodied by it all, this post is for you.
Or is that phoenii? Whatever the plural form of those birds that rise from ashes, stronger and better and more beautiful than pre-pyre, we’ve met more magical creatures this summer.
If you have been, say, looking for some hot stuff, baby, this evening; perhaps even looking for some hot stuff, baby, tonight; this July has surely pleased you. The news was incendiary. The temperatures were ghost-peppery. And the cats were sizzling.