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.
For a short month, February makes a lot of noise. But then, February does hang out with Bear.
We’ve already established that you don’t mess with Tex. Apparently, you don’t make him wait very long for an adopter, either. It hasn’t even been a month since Tex moseyed into a Tabby’s Place suite, and he’s already the king of his own ranch, er, forever home.
We’ve previously pondered the intricacies of naming cats. Some names are cute, some are goofy, and every so often you’ll meet a cat with a name so perfect that it ought to be retired now that it’s found him. So it is with Tex.