Strange, sweet little February, we salute you You gave us conversation hearts. (LUV YA. Mean it.) You gave us political heartburn. You gave us Cake by the Ocean.
There are Christmas songs, and then there are Christmas songs.* “O Holy Night” is one of the latter. O Holy Tabby’s Place, quite conveniently, is singing that song full strength this year.
I’m sure this occurs to you all the time. In fact, it’s so obvious, it barely merits mention: Cats have a lot in common with the people of the Trobriand Islands.
Age cannot eclipse elegance. Cancer cannot quell a heart of fire. And Raquel Welch cannot compete with Raquel Rosenberg.
You did not ask the cats for advice for what to do with yourself this Labor Day. Fortunately, cats like giving unsolicited advice.
At this precise moment, it is 87 degrees in Ringoes, NJ, with a “RealFeel” of 90. I am not complaining. Neither are the cats. We are desert creatures. We do not beat the heat; we eat the heat. But in the event that you are a tundra creature ruing your sweaty life at this moment, […]
If you think Tabby’s Place needs more secret passageways… If you think America’s Got Talent should be renamed America’s Got Problems… If you’re absolutely apoplectic about the impending cancellation of Sábado Gigante… …some cat, somewhere, is on your precise wavelength.
The cats remind us that we are not alone. For every oddity and instance of ookiness, there’s a comrade in arms to share your strangeness.
If you are (a) human, (b) over the age of eight and (c) equipped with a real, squishable heart, you have felt like a loser. Fortunately, Sherpa lacks (a), and so he’s spared feeling that the world is collectively flicking its finger and thumb in the shape of an L on its forehead.*
Take a moment and glance at your calendar. What does it tell you? It’s Thursday, October 16th. It’s Boss’s Day.* It’s Flea‘s birthday. It’s the 630th anniversary of Jadwiga being crowned King of Poland. It’s the eve of Wear Something Gaudy Day. But, much more than this, it’s National Feral Cat Day.