Roberta has known the endless, colorless Monday. Lucinda has lived the bleak and bewildering Thursday. But Sunday came, and Sundays come to stay.
When you are in a hopeless situation, every day is Ash Wednesday. You don’t need a smudge on your forehead. You wear grief like a tattoo. You don’t need someone to say, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” You remember all too well. But when you are a Tabby’s Place […]
Every month in Tabby’s Place history has been majestic. We are in the business of cats, so it cannot be otherwise. But January 2025 shines in a class of its own. Or rather, its Oram.
When does love make its landing? Do the wheels touch down only after some required minimum time in the air? Or does love define its own gravity? Fourteen cats depended on the answer.
True fact: you may, someday, be more renowned than Taylor Swift. Equally true fact: you may labor and love in obscurity for all of your days. Most factual fact: either way, you’re in good company.
It would be a strange thing not to acknowledge that strange things are happening. Unsolved Mysteries has returned.* Tiger King now seems like ancient retro viewing (we were so young then!). Ordinary people are becoming opinionated experts in virology. And galumphing hordes of cats are getting adopted in strange and wondrous ways.
These Difficult Times have had their own strange tenderness. Let’s not lose it when we’re back to…whatever we’re going back to.
We’re making it through the pestilence. We survived the murder hornets. Then the locusts came. The weeping cities and burning hearts. And now, as a treat, earthquakes, tropical storms, and, locally, hailstones the size of moons.
Some of us smile like goofy goobers over 70% of the time. Some of us seem sober, somber or serious, but know peace like a river deep within. All of us are more than meets the eye.
Call the New York Times. I have a hot news tip. It seems not every day is going to be the same.