Epilogues: September 2025
Things That Do Not Exist, an incomplete list: Coincidences; hopeless cats; legitimate uses of fat-free mayonnaise. If you are unsure about that first item, just ask a few cats. Preferably the “hopeless” ones.
Epilogues: August 2025
Autumn is in the eyes of the beholder. Is it homework, or cardigans with pockets big enough to carry kittens? Is it decay, or farm stands selling warty gourds with googly eyes? Is it the last belch of the year, or a belated beginning?
Epilogues: July 2025
At least once a week, someone tells me they are scared to visit Tabby’s Place. This always comes from someone blessed and challenged with a tender heart. They know their own softness. They fear they may not be able to bear the sight of cats who cannot walk, or seniors once discarded. They picture Tabby’s […]
Epilogues: June 2025
It’s summer. Kittens smaller than mozzarella sticks are melting our hearts. Cats of all sizes are processing the trauma of seeing humans in shorts. And the humid, hairy, heartbreaking world is stripping us all down to honesty.
Epilogues: May 2025
There is only one month of the year that makes a philosophical statement simply by existing: “May.” Fortunately, one hundred percent of cats make philosophical statements simply by existing.
Epilogues: April 2025
Hang around Tabby’s Place, and you’ll hear peculiar things. “I need to squeeze six bladders before lunch.” “Half a salamander was found in Solarium B.” “We have a hostage situation in the back hallway. Hazey has the entire Junior Honor Society cornered. Negotiations have failed.” But there are three words you will never hear at […]
Epilogues: February 2025
The world is a bewildering place for small mammals like you, me, and Colonel Peabody. People shout. Mercy gets lost in a pile of old papers. Boar’s Head announces that liverwurst “won’t be available for purchase or consumption, ever again.” (Peabody would have been OK if it were available for purchase but not consumption. Peabody […]
Epilogues: January 2025
Every month in Tabby’s Place history has been majestic. We are in the business of cats, so it cannot be otherwise. But January 2025 shines in a class of its own. Or rather, its Oram.
Epilogues: December 2024
Who is this swaggering stranger introducing itself as 2025? What did it do with 2024, or 1981 for that matter? Do cats follow any calendar, other than the primordial cycle of giblets and nuggets? And most importantly: how does Theodosia, age one hundred nine, remain untouched by years?
Epilogues: November 2024
No one gets out of November unscathed: not you, not me, and not the star-crossed onions who gave their lives to surf your Aunt Lurlene’s green bean casserole. Elections cause feelings. Thanksgivings cause feelings. The last chrysanthemum falling to the ground? The poet trees turned naked as prose? Feelings. Feelings. Feelings. The only cure for […]
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