The other day, my hubby and I returned my mom to my sister’s house, her primary residence. We’re a quaranteam, so we’re sharing. It works out nicely for everyone: varied household dynamics, changes in company, someone else to look at (or not), and different walls for my mom.
November arrives full of “alls.” Yesterday was All Saints Day. (The cats celebrated themselves appropriately.) Today is All Souls Day. (The cats snickered “bless your soul” at us inappropriately.) And tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, we’re lavished with the luscious “alls” of 125 Tabby’s Place residents in all their muchness.
Oh, frisky feisty January. You are longer than your 31 days, starting with fireworks and ending with “finally!” You are the time for cold crunch under our feet and Christmas leftovers gone crusty. You are the month of few holidays and generally muted merriment. But those who live among cats have all the frisk and […]
Don’t be hard on yourself about it. This is a stressful time of year for All The People, including you. You just might need a little extra fluff and stuff to cuddle you through it.
Quite a lot happened this week in history. The Feast Day of St. Francis. The Battle of Largs. The births of Gandhi and Vaclav Havel and Sting. The 14th anniversary of Tabby’s Place.
Plug in your earphones, compadres. It’s time to dance to the music…al cats.
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.
Ever notice that everyone thinks of himself as an iconoclast? Show me someone who proudly says “I’m a mid-mainstream man!”, and I’ll show you a Waffle House serving artisanal vegan cheese.
March, baby, we need to talk. That lion-and-lamb stuff is an understatement when it comes to you. Good heavens to Murgatroyd, did you ever march forth.
It ain’t our first time at this here rodeo.* We’ve had an anxious quintet from Southern parts before.