April, sweet April, T.S. Eliot had you all wrong. You’re not the cruellest month. You’re not trying to show us fear in a handful of dust.
For a short month, February makes a lot of noise. But then, February does hang out with Bear.
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.
Oh December. Just when we’re ready to write you off as a dastardly doer of dastardly deeds, you give us a thrill of hope, and some out-of-season kittens.
It has been brought to my attention that, while I take many pictures of all the Tabby’s Place cats, I take a fully appropriate disproportionate number of pictures of Webster (say, 50 one hundred meeeellion a month). And isn’t that rather unfair? To quote various British people: bollocks.