Part of my job is to make appointment reminder phone calls. Recently, I had a rough conversation with someone who couldn’t tell the difference between 3 disparate groups of people. (Oh, no. Here we go.)
Editor’s note: The following post comes your way from the grand Famiglia di Ducky. May we heed The Duck’s call to marvel and rejoice at the cats and humans who duck our expectations. Life — and Ducky — are so much more complicated and magical than we first imagine… — A.H.
The strawberry moon has hopped back into its hidey hole. The Jurassic Park/World/Money franchise has handed over its latest. The magical month of June has jaunted off for another year.
Having Ducky at Tabby’s Place was ducky. Nay, it was more. It was supra-ducky. Uber-ducky. So transcendent of ducky it was Ducky with a capital D. But having Ducky adopted — with one transcendentally cool Tesseract, no less — was the Duckiest of all.
Plug in your earphones, compadres. It’s time to dance to the music…al cats.
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.
You’ve not heard much about Miss Bea before. That’s not for lack of agitation.
It ain’t our first time at this here rodeo.* We’ve had an anxious quintet from Southern parts before.
For a short month, February makes a lot of noise. But then, February does hang out with Bear.