At least once a week, someone tells me they are scared to visit Tabby’s Place. This always comes from someone blessed and challenged with a tender heart. They know their own softness. They fear they may not be able to bear the sight of cats who cannot walk, or seniors once discarded. They picture Tabby’s […]
We work hard to prevent feline fatherhood at Tabby’s Place. This is the all-important “N” at the center of TNR. (That’s “Trap, Neuter, Return,” not “Turkey, Nuggets, Ravioli,” no matter what Bello tries to tell you.) But you can be a great Dad without having a single kitten. So today, we salute the top Pops […]
No. It’s too tempting. I am strong enough to resist. I am not going to write about Cinco de Meow. I am not going to write about Cinco de Meow. I am not going to … unless Juel asks me to.
Oh, kittens! If ever we needed cats, it’s now. We are in Olympics withdrawal. Target is trying to boondoggle us into believing we are behind on holiday shopping. And no matter where we hide, it is still an election year.
Your eyes do not deceive you. Nor did I type this after my 7th cosmopolitan. This is all about the bokeh of a certain North Jersey city.
It has been brought to my attention that, while I take many pictures of all the Tabby’s Place cats, I take a fully appropriate disproportionate number of pictures of Webster (say, 50 one hundred meeeellion a month). And isn’t that rather unfair? To quote various British people: bollocks.
Once upon a time, there was a Suite Marmalade. Then there wasn’t, and then there was, and now there is again…in a new form.