Buongiorno, kittens. Just when your patience for my prattle might be wearing thin, I’m thrilled to present you with a grand surprise: an update on Tabby’s Place alumnus Inigo Montoya.
Don’t let commercials about rich people getting Christmas Cadillacs make you cynical. These are, in fact, the days of miracle and wonder. And I’ve got 120 cats to back me up.
Eyes are for seeing. Eyes are for winking. Eyes are for sending us into the sky with swooning.
All together now: auhhhhhhhtummmmm. It’s deeper than “ah.” It’s better than “om.” And we can see it shining in the not-too-distant distance. If ever we needed the sepia-toned glow of fall, it’s now.
His name is Inigo Montoya. We know nothing about his father. Prepare to sigh.
Here’s something worth thinking about. If you meet someone named Gus, is it short for August, Augustine, Augustus, or Asparagus?
Summer is serious business. Its questions are timeless: Whatever happened to Frozfruit? Will the song of the summer be “Juice,” “Sucker” or “Old Town Road”? Where have all the kittens gone?