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In the words of Zora Neale Hurston, there are years that ask questions and years that answer. 2016 is doing an awful lot of both.
We’re in the stubborn, righteous business of good news around here. Fortunately, we have abundant help from cats and their writerly women and men.
You’d never drop a diamond into a dumpster. But recently, one tiny treasure ended up in the trash. A tiny treasure…with a tail.
Many people would benefit from your freaking out right now. The cats are not among those people.
In the mathematics of life, usually wonderful + wonderful = wonderfuller. Usually.
Were we not, just recently, right in this space, talking of age and dreams and never-too-late ideals? Were we not talking of beach volleyball, and ageless agility…and Chianti?
What’s that old chestnut? “Sometimes things have to fall apart so better things can fall together.” Or, in Sable-speak: “Sometimes your tail has to get degloved so your people can get devoted.”
There’s a sense in which you’re about to read a jeremiad. Not the sense in which the word is usually defined. (Why would we do that?) No: we’re talking about slapping together Jeremy the cat with The Iliad.
For the fruits of your labors, the Tabby’s Place cats thank you. You donate. You share our stories. You pray. You love. You labor your legwarmers off…and your labors do not go unnoticed.
The songwriters of the world can’t quite agree about September. Some want to remember it.* Some are trying to remember it. Some just want to be awakened when it ends. And then there are the cats.