There’s an expression I keep hearing this summer: “You just do you.” Or, turned around, “I gotta do me.”
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.
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.
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.
It’s over, homies. The worst of winter. The chalky cavalcade of Conversation Hearts. The days without daffodils. And your wait for the cats’ monthly wrap-up.
Now is not the winter of our discontent. Now is not yet the triumphal procession towards spring. Now is the holy roll of ordinary time at Tabby’s Place.