Oh December. Just when we’re ready to write you off as a dastardly doer of dastardly deeds, you give us a thrill of hope, and some out-of-season kittens.
October and all of its surprises are in the books. Cubs in the Series. Cats in girdles. Swiss-cheesey holes in undisclosed locations.
This can be a funny time of year. Not funny-ha-ha; funny like Election Day, or hemorrhoids, or ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife.
You’ll often hear it said at Tabby’s Place that a cat was returned “for no fault of his own.” Humans mystify. Grace withholds judgment. So we simply focus on the innocence of the innocent: the cat. But, there are exceptions. Todd was returned to us this summer…for every fault of his own.
If you’re reading this post, you’re doing July right. Before you can properly celebrate Independence Day, Bastille Day, and Tapioca Pudding Day, you must know how the cats spent all the days of June.
Sometimes I forget that we see only a few chapters. We love the Tabby’s Place cats completely. But it’s humbling — and liberating — to remember that we don’t exhaust their complete story of love.
If years were condiments, 2015 would be a fresh jar of Jif. Today is fresh, unsullied, full of poetry and possibility. But before we plunge into that smooth unknown, here’s one last tarantella with Old Man 2014.
It won’t appear on your calendar, but this is a very important season for cats, humans, and all assorted animals, vegetables, minerals and politicians. It is the three-week period after Election Day, the great window of mercy…the time when campaign ads are silenced.
Tonight, little ghouls and ninja turtles and Groots and Elsas will descend upon your doorstep demanding confections. Next month, the leader of the free world will pardon a turkey. And within the span of seven magical days, we’ve got the pleasures of National Cat Day, All Saints’ Day, All Souls’ Day, and the silencing of […]
In the immortal words of Tom Petty, “some days are diamonds; some days are rocks.” And some months are ossified turds.* September, you thieving, grieving month, we’re looking at you.