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.
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.
When grief floods the plain, Tabby’s Place people don’t flee to higher ground. They pull on galoshes. They pull over when the windshield wipers can’t keep up with their tears. Then they keep going. After all, there’s still daylight. There’s still Pibb.
At Tabby’s Place, we live from the heart. We are so close to life, we can’t shield ourselves from death. We are so familiar with death, we can’t take life for granted. We are so sure of “forever,” we learn many meanings for “home.”
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?
Fear and sorrow are jagged boulders, bigger than any one of us. Love is larger than all of us put together. And when love puts us all together, there’s no limit to what — or who — we can lift.