You spy on outdoor happenings with such longing, as though you were once a wild thing, a panther slinking through brambles in pursuit of a capybara, and we caught you in a trap and clipped your claws and made you soft and thick around the middle...

Not to be mean, but you have no survival skills.

Oh, life.

Sleepy Sunday.

Happy. It's nearly fifty degrees and sunny!

I turned my sweet cat into a milk monster. Oops.

Skeeter.

He looks like a less good-spirited ogre.

Halloween.

Last night, we had a visitor with four legs and a long graceful tail, and this visitor examined every nook and cranny, peered behind every door, prowled every horizontal surface, sniffed every shoe, enthusiastically rubbed every cardboard box and outstretched hand.

I think the world can be an awfully mean and lonely place, especially for a stray on a frosty autumn night, and this cat is something we could have helped so easily.

No one ever asks about Sprinkles.

This is Jesse, formerly known as Jezebel, when we all thought he was a girl cat. In our defense, he’s very hairy all over and ESPECIALLY down there, so it was hard to tell.


Dozing.


Magical garden implements.








Monstaspida.