A cynic is nothing but a broken heart with scar tissue. Don’t tell them I told you. They might not like the implication: that they can heal. Just listen when they claim that nothing in life is certain. Listen, then tell them the story of Shirley.
“The harvest has begun.” Jonathan has said this before. Jonathan will say it again. Each time, he sounds as amazed as if it were the first time.
“How do you remember their names?” “How do you tell them all apart?” They are reasonable questions. Still, I stammer every time. How do you explain how easy it is to know the cats?
This might not be apparent to the naked eye, but Tabby’s Place offers a doctoral program in mathematics. Take it from a naked guy with stars in his eyes.
I would like to thank the unknown genius who named the invisible moon “new.” Selena would like to thank the moon itself.
What is the value of a life? Do the planets lean in close when one stray trembles? Is the Northeast Hemisphere brave enough to save a single empress?
Do you believe a cat can come into your life by “coincidence”? Or do you think it’s more likely Sasquatch will show up for Spaghetti-O’s?
I want to believe that everyone I love will remain young. Of course my mother is still thirty-five. She is every bit as thirty-five as she was when she packed my peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches. Of course Angelo is still a youth. He is not a seventeen year old cat so much as a seventeen year old […]
It’s Christmas Day. It’s Christmas Day, and you’re here, drawn to the cats like a child to the snow. It’s Christmas Day, and our child-hearts are together, where they belong.
It’s not just you. It’s not just Olive. Everyone is going through a hard time. Good thing we know a sanctuary.