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We have a long spectrum of cat personalities at Tabby’s Place. Many mosey along that scale in their time here, trending friendly-ward over months or years. But rare is the cat who catapults from I Will Eat Your Face to Mr. Rogers Is My Hero in three weeks.
Rumor has it that a certain small, goofy-faced tuxedo cat was adopted in 2009. Rumor has it that she moved with her Momma down to South Carolina. Rumor has it: never was a cat so loved. Ever. It’s ever so much more than a rumor.
The Winter Olympics are over. The Summer Olympics are distant. The Marathon is consistent.
Tabby’s Place has a room for kittens, exotically called The Kitten Room. Tabby’s Place has a window from aforementioned Kitten Room directly into the center of our Lobby. Tabby’s Place has gotten used to visitors peering into The Kitten Room from the Lobby and declaring, “There are no kittens in your Kitten Room anymoaaahhh.”
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…
Kittens, this one’s just a check-in. A hug across the ether. A special delivery of love, and warmth, and the comfort of cats.
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?
Oh, amici. Are you ever in for a treat today. The following came my way from that most Awesome of AwesomeAdopters herself…Vito‘s Mommy. Maria, make us merry as only you — and Doctor Scungilli — can do…
Departures can catch us off guard. Just when you’re sure you’re 100% happy and 0% sad about a cat’s adoption, you’ve got the wild weepies. Just when you’re convinced you’re “not one of those people” who gets sad over celebrity deaths, you’re snuffling your way through Frasier reruns.
Valentine’s Day is always kinda strange. Ash Wednesday is always sacred-strange. So when you schedule them for the same day, you’re scraping the stratosphere of sugary soulful strangeness.