OK, Tabby’s Place family. You know how we love around here. When one of us hurts, all of us hurt. When one of us is weak, the rest of us muster our strength. And right now, our sweetest teens need us to dream on their behalf. Kitty Purry and Leonardo DiCatrio have FIP.
We track all sorts of statistics at Tabby’s Place. For instance: Number of active volunteers: 150 Number of cats in Suite B: 18 Total weight, in pounds, of cats in Suite C: infinity
“They” tell me it is now Meteorological Autumn. “They” say kitten season is on the wane. But the great, proverbial “they” don’t know a thing about the endless summer of cats.
Anyone who’s lived with cats or children or saints knows: higher creatures have their own calendars. It’s only us earthbound types who think holidays are sparsely scattershot across the year.
We are about a lot of things at Tabby’s Place. We are about love. We are about “the least of these.” We are very much about Veggie Straws, and the color orange, and obscure names for kittens. But we are not, and have frankly never been, about the numbers.
With apologies to the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, winter is not coming. This is the time of magnolias and birdsong and the leaping greenly spirits of trees. But that doesn’t mean we’re not game for a little snow.
By the time you read this post, nerd prom will be over, the madding crowd will be far away, and a big green chap and his gangsters will be avenging on our behalf.* But much more importantly, things will have happened. They will have happened…because cats made them happen.
When Big Things happen, they happen quickly. One morning you’re a paragraph away from finishing the Great American Novel, but it may as well be ten thousand tomes of invisible ink. The next, epiphany hits and you’ve got yourself a magnum opus. One night you’re watching Miami Vice reruns and eating Funyuns in your holey […]