T.S. Eliot, who first discovered that every cat has three names, declared April to be “the cruelest month.” Clearly he did not know the names of Mayhem, Crumpet, or Patches.
The worst days and the best days are often one and the same, as Charles Dickens knew well. The day that Nemo and I found a different way to spend time together was exactly that. One gazillion percent.
O! You wondrous creatures, you radiant Tabby’s Place residents! You are equally at home in winter and spring, dropping long-tailed poetry like petals across the month that makes seasons kiss. You Marched through our days as children of the Tabby’s Place promise, blossoms beloved simply because you are ours. You made us yours. And to […]
We have all known the little drummer boys. They sit in the back of the bus and the back of the band room and the back of our minds, only to vault to the forefront with the full force of life. And lunacy.
From where I sit, legs dangling off the edge of the world, ready to be caught by 120 strong cats, I can tell you the following with a high measure of confidence: We have had ourselves a capital-M Month.
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?
January hath given, and January hath taken away. January hath given us Zebra Cake ice cream, and January hath taken away all remaining laughable attempts by our species to appear dignified. January hath taken away our queen Betty White (and our gentle jester Louie Anderson, and our soaring bard Meat Loaf), and January hath given […]
This has not been a normal holiday season. Fortunately, Tabby’s Place contains precisely zero normal cats, normal humans, or normal salamanders. (I can neither confirm nor deny the underground salamander kingdom of Tabby’s Place, nor their effective rule over the rest of us.)