I remember sitting on the porch of my parents’ old rescue sanctuary, the air thick with the scent of damp hay and the chaotic, beautiful [Read More…]
Yesterday, while I was out in the garden trying to arrange some flat river stones into the shape of a sleeping tabby, I found myself [Read More…]
The other morning, I was out in the garden trying to arrange some smooth river stones into the shape of a sleeping tabby—I’ve named this [Read More…]
I remember sitting on the porch of my parents’ old farm last autumn, watching a young rescue goat named Barnaby try to navigate a new, [Read More…]
The other afternoon, I was out in the garden trying to arrange some flat river stones into the shape of a sleeping tabby—a little tribute [Read More…]
I was sitting on my porch yesterday, trying to piece together a little mosaic of a tabby cat using some flat river stones, when my [Read More…]
I was sitting on my porch yesterday, trying to arrange some fallen maple leaves into a little fox shape, when Barnaby—a scruffy tabby I’ve affectionately [Read More…]
I was sitting out on the porch yesterday, trying to arrange some dried maple leaves into the shape of a sleeping tabby, when a stray [Read More…]
I was sitting on the porch this morning, watching a particularly stubborn tabby I’ve named Louis Pasteur try to hunt a grasshopper, when it hit [Read More…]
I was halfway through a thunderstorm that rattled the hayloft, curled on my couch with my jittery tabby Milo, when I slipped a soft, sack‑like [Read More…]
