Epilogues: June 2025
It’s summer. Kittens smaller than mozzarella sticks are melting our hearts. Cats of all sizes are processing the trauma of seeing humans in shorts. And the humid, hairy, heartbreaking world is stripping us all down to honesty.
It’s summer. Kittens smaller than mozzarella sticks are melting our hearts. Cats of all sizes are processing the trauma of seeing humans in shorts. And the humid, hairy, heartbreaking world is stripping us all down to honesty.
You can hear a kitten’s piccolo meow from deep space. You can hear Hips‘s galumphing gallop all the way to Glockamora. But while youth and ego shout, the meek let their lives speak. They will never toot their own horns. So let’s hear it for the mamas.
Hang around Tabby’s Place, and you’ll hear peculiar things. “I need to squeeze six bladders before lunch.” “Half a salamander was found in Solarium B.” “We have a hostage situation in the back hallway. Hazey has the entire Junior Honor Society cornered. Negotiations have failed.” But there are three words you will never hear at […]
When you are a Tabby’s Place cat, you infuse every square inch of time with importance. There are no mundane months around here. Yet even our gourds and ladies know: there is something about October.
Anyone connected to Tabby’s Place: A Cat Sanctuary comes to understand that every story eventually becomes a sob story. Many stories begin that way too.
What is one-eyed, 2 years old, and black and white all over? Buffy! She is a recent rescue from a challenging situation, and she has landed firmly, squarely in Suite D (with a capital D). There, she rubs elbows (well, faces and bodies) with a legendary crew of felines as well as with each and […]
The world is weeping. Our brothers and sisters are shuddering in subways, crawling across borders, bearing their children and their grandparents and their ragged animals on their backs. Are we supposed to bask in jolly cat happenings at such a time as this?
Farmers have their markets. Carnies have their carousels. And we, we have our kittens by the quintillions.
There are songs about winter, spring and fall. But there are songs about summer. And that’s no coincidence.
I sure hope you didn’t reckon on fishin’ this weekend. Sure, it’s flounder season and all. But the weather is wet and woolly, with wee ones more wondrous than all the ocean.