We interrupt this Gratuitous Cat Photo season to mark the passing of a giant. A tiny, clementine-bright giant: Mango.
This is a love letter. Most who know me know that I love cats. Those who know me well know that I love old cats. This is a love letter to the old cats.
We’re in the stubborn, righteous business of good news around here. Fortunately, we have abundant help from cats and their writerly women and men.
Even when we expect an exit, we’re not entirely ready. Not emotionally. Not viscerally. And not literarily.
Tabby’s Place lives in Ringoes, NJ. Certain winters, Tabby’s Place has fantasized about moving to warmer climes. But, since Tabby’s Place is 7,000 square feet of building, 13 years of history, and 120 cats of stubbornness, Tabby’s Place shall continue to dream on from Jersey.
Do you hear that sound? No, it’s not the Horn of Gondor. No, it’s not your mother calling you to dinner. No, it’s not Santa. It’s KITTENS.
When it comes to cats, I have a slight tendency to act upon impulses. When it comes to my cat-related impulses, my instincts have not done wrong by me.
Human beings do not have five senses. We have many, many more — including proprioception. But just when we think we might be pretty amazing, cats remind us what sense and sensibility are all about.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry that, by titling this post as it is titled, I’ve infected your brain with the Fanta commercial song.
Every once in a great while, we receive an offer so compassionate, so compelling, so colossal, that we simply must share it with you. This week, we’ve received the most unstinky of offers.