There’s no beating around this bristly, brutal bush. August 2018 dealt some awfulness in extremis at Tabby’s Place.
Mid-August did not taste good at Tabby’s Place. Loss upon loss upon pummeling loss left a sour note of unfinished business.
Tabby’s Place may or may not have a Diabetic Mafia.* The Diabetic Mafia may or may not have a Don…na.
Oh, frisky feisty January. You are longer than your 31 days, starting with fireworks and ending with “finally!” You are the time for cold crunch under our feet and Christmas leftovers gone crusty. You are the month of few holidays and generally muted merriment. But those who live among cats have all the frisk and […]
We live in an age of indignation. Much of it is necessary. But much of it is just noxious.
You’re not that weak. You don’t really need adorable photos to melt you down to goodness. But come Shameless Linda Fund Season, you bet I’m weak enough to resort to that anyway.
Far, far be it from me to fat-shame cats. To do that would require (a) that fatness was shameful and (b) that cats were capable of shame.
I’ve just realized (yet) another way we differ from cats. We are continually, perpetually, all of us, defending our lives.
By the time you read this post, nerd prom will be over, the madding crowd will be far away, and a big green chap and his gangsters will be avenging on our behalf.* But much more importantly, things will have happened. They will have happened…because cats made them happen.
My barrister friends have often said that, when it comes to law school, if you make it through torts, you can make it. I assumed this famously difficult class on torts must be on the topic of torts, as in, wrongful acts leading to civil legal liability. Now I know: it was on tortoiseshell cats.