If you hang around Tabby’s Place for any length of time, you will unavoidably encounter the word “shmoldie.” Repeatedly. Inescapably. Inexplicably.
Oh youze guyze… …it’s here… …it’s back…
The Community Room is far too quiet today, too empty.
The Winter Olympics are over. The Summer Olympics are distant. The Marathon is consistent.
What did February brew for you, kittens? Was it the seasonal equivalent of honey-lemon tea, accented with a pink marshmallow heart? Or was it a colander of questionably-colored snow?
That title isn’t exactly accurate. Geriatric throw-downs, plural, endless in plurality, would be more like it.
Farmers have their markets. Carnies have their carousels. And we, we have our kittens by the quintillions.
The moving of cats is a delicate matter. Perhaps that’s why we decided to do it all at once, to approximately 30,000 cats. Nowhere was our prudence and patience more evident than in the Community Room.
March, baby, we need to talk. That lion-and-lamb stuff is an understatement when it comes to you. Good heavens to Murgatroyd, did you ever march forth.
Everything old is new again. That isn’t, however, due to it being January. That’s due to the sunrise every morning, and the hope that years can’t hinder…and the cats that keep coming.