I’m not gonna try to drizzle this with syrup, kittens. We’ve been battered, beaten and boxed about the ears this month.
These are trying times, kittens. We need something stronger than painted smiles to get through the day. Stronger than scotch-spiked espresso. Stronger, even, than cats with lemon helmets.
Jonathan said something both ironic and profound this week. Actually, he said many such things. But the particular Rosenberg koan that comes to mind today is this: “We gotta put a moratorium on death.”
This may sound scandalous, but it’s a fact: At Tabby’s Place, we regularly see cats do Bad Things.
We are about a lot of things at Tabby’s Place. We are about love. We are about “the least of these.” We are very much about Veggie Straws, and the color orange, and obscure names for kittens. But we are not, and have frankly never been, about the numbers.
If you think Tabby’s Place needs more secret passageways… If you think America’s Got Talent should be renamed America’s Got Problems… If you’re absolutely apoplectic about the impending cancellation of Sábado Gigante… …some cat, somewhere, is on your precise wavelength.
I’ve been thinking about Queen‘s heart lately. Contrary to popular opinion, it is not an empty hole, The Abyss, or Vladimir Putin’s soul and inspiration.
We are all longing for something. When we are in control think we are in control, we can cover this with niceties and propriety. “I’m fine. All’s cool. No worries.” When we are honest, we’re prone to act like Coco.
When you’re human, it’s easy to drowse into climate-controlled forgetfulness. But when you live with cats, it’s impossible to forget that you are more than your mind.
Some wag wrote that “everyone is normal ’til you get to know them.” But I say unto you, no one is ordinary once you get to love them.