Development Dunderhead’s note: if ever you wonder about Simba‘s shimmering, spectacular mother Tara, prepare for your wonderings to turn into wonderfuls. Our beloved volunteer and Simba-scribe is, despite our protests, still in Colorado. But she’s also still here…as we always say, “once a Tabby’s Place cat, always a Tabby’s Place cat.” But don’t take 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.
There are weeks that power your perseverance, and weeks that push your fist higher and higher into the restless sky. The start of September in Ringoes, NJ was one of the latter. We lost Meatball. We lost Tyke. And I’m not ashamed to report that we lost our patience with reality.
It would be easier, neater, if we could map all the outcomes before we did any of the intakes. To play nothing by ear. To get caught off-guard exactly 0% of the time. To hedge every bet, tighten every loose end, prevent — at least anticipate — every heartache.
Farmers have their markets. Carnies have their carousels. And we, we have our kittens by the quintillions.