Oh, goodness. It has been a spell. The last time I opined about the wonders of wonderfully ancient cats was probably in 2016. Maybe a little later, when I wrote a goodbye love-letter to beautiful Bianca. The point is, it has been a spell. And as we often find with spells, it has been…complicated.
If you hang around Tabby’s Place for any length of time, you will unavoidably encounter the word “shmoldie.” Repeatedly. Inescapably. Inexplicably.
I don’t need to spend years with a cat to love her. I don’t even need months. I don’t need weeks. The length of a day becomes a luxury when time is limited. Hours can represent tiny lifetimes if you fill them with meaning. Such was my time with Bianca.
This is a love letter. Most who know me know that I love cats. Those who know me well know that I love old cats. This is a love letter to the old cats.
When it comes to cats, I have a slight tendency to act upon impulses. When it comes to my cat-related impulses, my instincts have not done wrong by me.
Human beings do not have five senses. We have many, many more — including proprioception. But just when we think we might be pretty amazing, cats remind us what sense and sensibility are all about.
There are many things I don’t know. Why Jimmy Fallon hasn’t been elected president. Why there are no Waffle Houses in New Jersey. Where the following amazing writer gets all her amazing.
If you’re reading this post, you’re doing July right. Before you can properly celebrate Independence Day, Bastille Day, and Tapioca Pudding Day, you must know how the cats spent all the days of June.
It’s over, homies. The worst of winter. The chalky cavalcade of Conversation Hearts. The days without daffodils. And your wait for the cats’ monthly wrap-up.
If you wisely observed Mumford Monday this week, you already know we can soon look forward to a song about Broad-Shouldered Beasts.* But did you know there are Tabby’s Place cats singing their own Tabby’s Place songs beyond the gates of Tabby’s Place?