The cats have many reasons to call us dingbats, dunderheads, and hairy turnips. For instance: We have the technology to install a fountain of mozzarella in the lobby, but we don’t. We deplete our beef nugget budget to buy “lint rollers,” which we then deploy to remove fur that (a) was placed with great intention […]
Who is this swaggering stranger introducing itself as 2025? What did it do with 2024, or 1981 for that matter? Do cats follow any calendar, other than the primordial cycle of giblets and nuggets? And most importantly: how does Theodosia, age one hundred nine, remain untouched by years?
If years were condiments, 2015 would be a fresh jar of Jif. Today is fresh, unsullied, full of poetry and possibility. But before we plunge into that smooth unknown, here’s one last tarantella with Old Man 2014.
Three million humans are expected to attend the Macy’s 4th of July Fireworks. Five hundred thousand humans will be at the Boston Pops Fireworks Spectacular. But the humans who are both rad and awesome are right here, checking out what went boom in the Tabby’s Place cats’ world this month.
We are only human, and subject to many limitations. We put our socks on one at a time. We cannot see straight from New Jersey to Neptune with our naked little eyes. And, in the presence of a cat named Jed, we will inevitably sing one song.
If you like to sing-a, say, about: 1. The moon-a 2. The June-a and/or 3. The spring-a, you are in luck. May has gone, The June-a has come, and it brings you cat tidings.
Tra-la… It’s May, which means spring is about to get real. We’re talking dogwoods. Tulips. Hydrangeas. And kittens. Baby kittens. Bring on the brain-liquefying, IQ-annihilating powers of kittens and their nuclear cuteness.