We are fast approaching two of the coolest days on the calendar. No, not Mischief Night and Halloween. All Saints and All Souls.
There’s no beating around this bristly, brutal bush. August 2018 dealt some awfulness in extremis at Tabby’s Place.
There are goodbyes so long in coming, we come to expect that they will never come. When they come, they crash through us, a tsunami of tears that tear us to ribbons.
Tabby’s Place may or may not have a Diabetic Mafia.* The Diabetic Mafia may or may not have a Don…na.
Oh, frisky feisty January. You are longer than your 31 days, starting with fireworks and ending with “finally!” You are the time for cold crunch under our feet and Christmas leftovers gone crusty. You are the month of few holidays and generally muted merriment. But those who live among cats have all the frisk and […]
We live in an age of indignation. Much of it is necessary. But much of it is just noxious.
Far, far be it from me to fat-shame cats. To do that would require (a) that fatness was shameful and (b) that cats were capable of shame.
Many people would benefit from your freaking out right now. The cats are not among those people.