What if we all sat around the fireplace and pulled oysters and pearls from our week? The cats would strongly prefer that we pull all the catfish out of all the bayous and dance like Kokopelli around the bonfire, but they’ll accept this pale substitution.
Summon the cymbals and tympanis of autumn. This, kittens, was The Month. I don’t mean the month in which fall fell into place, although that’s grand. I don’t mean the month in which the universe bestowed us with Snoop Loopz cereal, although that’s transcendent. I don’t mean the month in which Tabby’s Place hosted both […]
To the naked eye, Tabby’s Place appears to be a cat sanctuary. A special cat sanctuary, certainly. One-of-a-kind. Sensational. Smitten with specifically those cats the world forgot. But Tabby’s Place is more than it appears: an outpost of love. A living, purring, peeing parable. A tumbler of timeless truths. And a place where August can […]
Wherever we turn, there are doorways that we can see through as we pass through, much like the magnificent blue door staff and volunteers use to enter Tabby’s Place. Then there are portals. Whether they are wormholes that link the farthest reaches of the universe to each other or tunnels that link New York to […]
All too easily, we can find ourselves following the white rabbit down into a warren of wallowing, worry, and woe. Not exactly wonderful. Not unreasonable or unseasonable, given the current times. But, also not the whole story. There’s always something fabulous and fun. There is always joy to be found, and come what may… THE […]
Sometime in December 2021, my hubby M (not only for his first name, but also for MAGNIFICENT), a very large, Jewish man with a pretty big sweet tooth and a sad dearth of suppliers, bemoaned the lack of Christmas cookies that would be finding their way to his table and tummy for the holidays. Cue […]
Here’s something to look forward to: Someday we’ll be dignified and old. Together.
Take it from this fanilow, Barry Manilow’s oeuvre is just like cats (no, not the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical; the actual furbies). Each song is the favorite, and each song is the best.
Sitting with a wonderfully toasty heating pad wrapped around my right foot and Paul McCartney crooning about his love makes me feel all gooshy inside. Okay, not exactly gooshy, but nice. I like the song, despite the sappiness, and I really love the heating pad.
It’s not the third British invasion. Kind of a shame, too, because the music scene can always use a refresh, but Lewis Capaldi, Ed Sheeran, and Rag’n’Bone Man don’t make for much of a wave. There is, however, a second wave of tiny Terran aliens crashing around the world.