You may have heard the expression, “it’s my white whale.” A white whale is a ludicrous goal that you keep chasing even though it may be the end of you. A white whale is an obsession that threatens to eat you alive. We have no white whales at Tabby’s Place. We have a black-and-white whale.
Events and eves, especially events that occur on eves are exhausting, as evidenced by the residents of Tabby’s Place.
They could have died. They would have died. They are currently pursuing their favorite hobby, Not Dying. You might say the holidays came early for the merry gentlemen.
His natural spices are strictly sweet. No one would call him salty. Yet the diagnosis was clear: we had an uncured Salami on our hands.
Some days were Smarties, and some were nefarious Necco wafers. Some cats let us dress them up in our love, and others let us dress them up like iridescent snails. But for all its ups and downs, at Tabby’s Place, October is always a treat.
Over the summer, a flood of very scared cats washed up on the Tabby’s Place doorstep. As you’ve read, this was the result of a well-coordinated rescue of two sizable colonies. Never believing in “less” (there is always hope!) and always striving for more, the outlook is bright for the newcomers.
When you are a Tabby’s Place cat, you infuse every square inch of time with importance. There are no mundane months around here. Yet even our gourds and ladies know: there is something about October.
What’s more challenging than caring for one cat in a hopeless situation? Caring for well over fifty of them.
When the Bad Times are over and the Good Times begin, everything is immediately delightful. All the anxiety evaporates. Worry is terminated. Mirth covers the earth. Right. This may be true if you are a rag doll, or a polyester cat with plastic eyes.
Oh, kittens! If ever we needed cats, it’s now. We are in Olympics withdrawal. Target is trying to boondoggle us into believing we are behind on holiday shopping. And no matter where we hide, it is still an election year.