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“Honey” appeared to be the perfect name: she was golden yellow, with a little white, and she was small and cute. She was already 13 when she became my office mate in 2020, after it became clear that she had little tolerance for other cats … or most people. I learned quickly that the sweetness […]
There is a sense in which the sun never sets. Race ever eastward, leaping longitudes like jump rope, and you will stay in the light. Nestle in memory, grateful for the days given, and you will stay in bloom.
She did not write with fine point pens. She did not dress in age-appropriate beige. She will not let the colors fade.
We get more than we pay for at Tabby’s Place. But some days, we wish the price was not so high.
He arrived geriatric and intergalactic. He was the patriarch of impossible panache. Mortimer would make no time for mourning, but mere mortals must weep.
When you are a tortoiseshell of vast dignity, you are entitled to your secrets. Roxy gave me permission to tell you one: she loved Neil Young.
On a cold spring day, we are the world’s vagabonds. We huddle together on the sharp corner of hope. Our begging bowls are empty, and our eyes are full of tears. We’ve lost two kittens.
I don’t typically write eulogies for adopted cats. But there was nothing typical about Crinkle Bob.
The difference between cats and the rest of us is that we forget what’s inside of us. At best, we think of ourselves as oranges, fragile skin around sweetness. Mostly, we think of ourselves as piñatas, not sure what lies within until the hour hits us. We hope we’re more than a momentary sugar rush. […]