Guest Post: The boys of Suite D
There is something special about Suite D at Tabby’s Place. Maybe it’s because I’ve been cleaning the suite’s solarium weekly for almost 2 years, but I don’t think so.
Kitty LeFey’s Cosmos: A Place Oddity
There are sentences one would never expect to hear. Weirdly combined nouns all mashed up with verbs that don’t seem to work together? Such things are commonplace at Tabby’s Place.
Breaded
You probably do not consider chicken nuggets and cornbread an elegant meal, unless you are either feline, or ten years old. Fortunately, Chicken Nugget is both.
Made of stories
I would like to kiss the New Year, but I can’t reach that high. I would like to glimpse what’s next, but I can’t open my eyes that wide. So I will simply sit here, on the floor, with the cats, telling stories.
Kitty LeFey’s Cosmos: Black Friday
It may be Black Friday (in the US, at least), and there may be a lot of attention on bloated tummies and massive sales. Not at Tabby’s Place (except maybe the slightest loosening of waistbands). Fridays are days, just like every day, for focusing attention on cats. The FIV+ crew think they deserve extra special […]
The fourth Thursday in November
It’s Thanksgiving at Tabby’s Place. It’s the fourth Thursday in November. These facts do not entirely overlap.
Kitty LeFey’s Cosmos: Profoundly Well-Rounded
It’s no secret that the naming conventions for Tabby’s Place run fast into the weedy, wonderful fields of the unconcernedly unconventional. From required reading to refrigerators, no source of inspiration goes untapped. In fact, there exists an internal social media channel where staff and volunteers can submit suggestions as soon as a muse sets a […]
Epilogues: August 2023
There must be some hidden hoard of helium in the walls of Tabby’s Place. How else to explain the ups and downs of August, our hearts bobbing like airships?
What we show for the day
Was it a good day? The cayenne stray died. The wary child chose silence. The meaty beast bared some, not all. Was it a good day?
Still and ever
There was a time when kinfolk cloistered in Brooklyn brownstones or Omaha homesteads, Italian and Swedish singing across the clotheslines and generations. There was a time when Suite C was Suite C, and cats of a certain fatness stuffed the years like rollatini, together for (a) forever or (b) until someone slimmed their way elsewhere. […]