It’s time for another update on our inscrutable, irresistible orange tabby. Leave it to Simba‘s soulmate Tara to sing every verse with love. Read on and you’ll agree; Tara’s unwavering friendship is a veritable hymn to Sim…
What did February brew for you, kittens? Was it the seasonal equivalent of honey-lemon tea, accented with a pink marshmallow heart? Or was it a colander of questionably-colored snow?
Some things never change. Simba‘s life, however, is the stuff David Bowie sang about. Today, Tara takes us through the latest twists and turns…
We live in an age of indignation. Much of it is necessary. But much of it is just noxious.
I’ve just realized (yet) another way we differ from cats. We are continually, perpetually, all of us, defending our lives.
If you’re going to visit Suite C at Tabby’s Place, it’s probably best to bring your own tent. It’s loud and messy and magical in there, and the last thing you want is to have to leave early.
Today marks the eve of Lent, that serious season when folks make a spiritual practice of fasting from such things as injustice and selfishness and chocolate and Facebook. But before all that introspective stuff, folks get fat, Tuesday-style. So, of course, do cats.
Suite B is approximately 8 feet from Suite C. If you are a human, this means 1.3 Jimmy Fallons laid end-to-end. If you are a cat, this means the distance from New Jersey to Paris Zanzibar The Andromeda Galaxy.
When words are few and hearts raw, God provides. This week, provision came in the form of letters from little people.
We thought she could do it. We sincerely believed Natalie could play nice even without Prozac. We were a bunch of dunderheads.*