Admit it. You talk to cats. I know you talk to cats because you’re reading this. I talk to cats too. A lot. After all, there are a lot of cats to chat with at Tabby’s Place (sponsorships come with regular updates too). Here are some recent conversations that might remind you of chats that […]
When the orchestra gathers, trumpets tell tall tales. Astringent oboes wake the sleepers. Fairy flutes carry the story. But it’s the humble, deep-chested cello that makes the world lean in.
If the whole world feels glittered with gold and white today, you’re not imagining things. It’s Betty White Day. And if you’re here, reading these words, I’m certain of this: you’ve been Bettied.
When you fall over (and it is “when,” not “if”), what do you spill out? Anger? Compassion? Resentment that you are not eating enough mini meatballs? (I will let you guess which two out of those three apply to cats.)
What if we all sat around the fireplace and pulled oysters and pearls from our week? The cats would strongly prefer that we pull all the catfish out of all the bayous and dance like Kokopelli around the bonfire, but they’ll accept this pale substitution.
I love Polly. It’s true. I love Polly, and I don’t care who knows. Wait, that’s not quite right. I love Polly, and I want everyone to know, so that you’ll all love her, too.
These moments are our lives, you know. The moments that feel like dandelion puffs. The moments that feel like submarines. The moments we wish away or try to hurl out of the way. The moments when we’re Bart, and the moments when we’re Glenn.
My friend Glenn moved into the Development Office this week. My friend Glenn is moving all the furniture in my heart.