Rest from their labors
For the fruits of your labors, the Tabby’s Place cats thank you. You donate. You share our stories. You pray. You love. You labor your legwarmers off…and your labors do not go unnoticed.
For the fruits of your labors, the Tabby’s Place cats thank you. You donate. You share our stories. You pray. You love. You labor your legwarmers off…and your labors do not go unnoticed.
Ask not for whom the Community Room door opens; it opens for thee. Unless thou art Jackie. Or Hildegarde. Or Boots. Or — heaven help us — Olive.
Supposedly, it’s March hares that are madder than a hatter. But, ’round here, May is the month of mirthful, mind-splattering madness, courtesy of 100,000,000,000 kittens.*
One day, carnival carousing. The next, dust and ashes. Such is the Lenten kickoff dance.
Oh, 2015, you’ve been a marathon year. We’re grateful. We’re hopeful. We’re tired.
This week in the U.S., we honor those who served. This week every second of every hour of every day at Tabby’s Place, we honor those who serve are served.
Everything is connected. The future is today. (No, really.) And we’re only really “us” when we’re with “them.”
It’s August, kittens. August. The month of pterodactyl-sized bugs and Venus-high heat and the first flirtations with fall.
If you think Tabby’s Place needs more secret passageways… If you think America’s Got Talent should be renamed America’s Got Problems… If you’re absolutely apoplectic about the impending cancellation of Sábado Gigante… …some cat, somewhere, is on your precise wavelength.
There is so much news exploding at Tabby’s Place today, you’d think it was the Fourth of July. It isn’t. It’s better.