While Tabby’s Place celebrates the triumph of every successful adoption, we also know the heartache of loss for those who spend their years (or even just weeks and months) with us. Each cat who finds their way to our sanctuary is ours – truly and deeply ours, no matter the circumstances. We lament their pain, […]
Friends are reuniting. F*R*I*E*N*D*S are reuniting. As months go, you might say this May was The One With High Hopes. Then again, we are in the business of cats, so hopes around here are always Himalaya-high.
You’re not imagining it. Today the world is a little less colorful, less ragged, less funny. Two geriatric grey giants have departed, taking a kaleidoscope of colors with them.
February was not fully perfect. Cases in point: Something has gone horribly wrong with all the butter in Canada. Elvira is no longer ours for the hugging. Daft Punk has broken up. Additional case in point, pointedly true every month: our collective sanity has broken up (HA HA HA I MADE A FUNNY! “COLLECTIVE SANITY” […]
I had one vacation day left. I really needed a vacation, but this just couldn’t cut it.
In Massachusetts, there is a mecca for the brewed barley connoisseur, with a name that resounds through the Tabby’s Place Lobby where one furry little Lord Hobo reigns(ish) supreme (depending on whether or not Olive has a say). Meanwhile, in sweet suite A, our Boom-Sauce brings the awesome sauce (please do not inform the author […]
There’s a reason we can’t see 10 years or 10 weeks or 10 minutes into the future. There’s a reason we can’t extend our legs 50 feet, all telescopic and stretchy, to “make time.” But we’re unreasonable beasts who still think we can get ahead of ourselves.
Secret: I am incapable of cleaning the house without the assistance of boy bands, ranging from One Direction to The Grateful Dead. Not so secret: there are days when cleaning the house is exactly the soul-balm we need, and days when cleaning the house would be nearly a sin.
If we let it, strangeness can simplify us. Good news: we’ve been given a bumper crop of strangeness.
Hey, you. Who do you think you are?