Epilogues: April 2023
T.S. Eliot, who first discovered that every cat has three names, declared April to be “the cruelest month.” Clearly he did not know the names of Mayhem, Crumpet, or Patches.
T.S. Eliot, who first discovered that every cat has three names, declared April to be “the cruelest month.” Clearly he did not know the names of Mayhem, Crumpet, or Patches.
When life presents us with its greatest challenges, we discover who is up for the challenge of helping us uphold ourselves. Wrapped in difficulty, grief, or stress, it can be hard to look around and identify the communities of care that enwrap us. When challenges arise at Tabby’s Place, nobody even needs to look up. […]
It’s the shortest month of one of the longest years since years began. The hour is late. This is no time for half-measures in love. This is no time for scarcity in hair city.
Cats have decreed: you are not too far gone. Cats poke and ponder: perhaps you have not gone far enough. Over the edge. Out of the burrow. Into the fray and the play and the prayer that is life.
I’ve lived enough lives to know: you do not need to fall prostrate before anyone who begins sentences with, “In the final analysis…” If it’s final, it’s not much of an analysis. And if it can be analyzed, it’s not a living mystery (e.g. you, me, the cats, the trees, the stars, Paul Rudd).
Sometimes, before we can go forward, we have to look back. Before we can roll, we need to rock back and forth. Or, even better, pile up rocks like pancakes.
Ours is a world of worries. The climate is changing. Human nature is not changing. There’s a hot blob off the coast of New Zealand. Unsavory characters have been stealing enormous statuettes of Snoop Dogg.
I wish I could tell you why people get mean when they’re really just scared. I wish I could tell you why they don’t write more songs about the smell of thunderstorms. I wish I could tell you why I don’t “get” avocado; no, not even in the form of guac; yes, I have tried […]
It’s easy to forget that we are animals. But bust out a giant yellow sunball and some temperatures over 38, and suddenly we’re mere, mirthful mammals, reduced or elevated to pure instinct and rebellious giddiness.
I suppose we were asking too much of you, 2021. We demanded that you atone for the sins of your predecessor. We commanded that you carry all of our hopes. We thought, at least, that you could be good-weird rather than civilization-tottering-weird.