Tabby Travel Co-op

Blog

  • Autumn Itineraries: Leaves, Draughts, And The Crinkle Bag

    Autumn is the most underrated travel season, and I am here to prove it. Day one: visit the backyard leaf piles. Roll in them until you are part of the landscape. Day two: investigate every draught in the house and rate them by how much they ruffle your fur.

    Day three is the highlight, a pilgrimage to the Crinkle Bag. It sits in the pantry, glowing faintly, and it makes the most beautiful sound. Climb inside. Do not come out for a while. The sound will follow you for the rest of your life.

    Total cost for the itinerary is 6 sardines, plus whatever it costs to get the bag off your head.

  • Gear Review: The Backpack That Is Also A Nap Spot

    The new Trailnap 40 backpack from our members’ workshop is a revelation. It holds forty liters of gear, or one medium cat, or both if the cat does not mind a canteen digging into the ribs. Straps are padded and chew resistant.

    I took it on a three hour walk, which in cat terms is an expedition. I climbed in at the first rest stop and slept for the remaining two and a half hours. The human carried me all the way home. I would call it the most efficient hiking system ever devised.

    Price is 38 sardines. Color options include Moss, Fog and Forgotten Sock. Highly recommended for people who walk and cats who do not.

  • Going Home Is Also A Trip

    After three months of wandering, I came home and I realized that the best part of the trip is the return. I walked up to my own front door and I felt something I had never felt before. It was the sensation of being a stranger in my own hallway.

    Everything was a little smaller. The couch was a little softer. The food bowl was exactly where I left it, which felt like a miracle. My housemate, a goldfish named Dennis, looked at me as though I had been gone five minutes.

    I sat in my old spot and cried softly. Then I ate. Home, I now understand, is where the second breakfast is.

  • The Great Migration To The Heater Vent

    Every October, an incredible thing happens. As the evenings get cold, almost every member of our cooperative moves toward the same spot at the same time. The heater vent in the living room. We call it the Great Migration, and I joined it this year for the first time.

    It was spectacular. I saw tabbies, calicos, a lone gray cat called Moss, all converging on the warm air as though pulled by a rope. The vent hummed. We lay in a circle, face to the grate, whiskers blowing back.

    Nobody spoke. We did not need to. We were a herd. I was part of something larger than a nap, and also a nap.

  • We Rated Every Windowsill In Town

    Our research team spent 22 days rating every windowsill in the neighborhood. Highlights follow. Number 4 Maple Court, ledge height 38 inches, scenery of pigeons, rating 9.4. A wonderful sill. Someone has even left a pillow.

    Number 11 Bramble Lane, ledge height 26 inches, view of a brick wall, rating 3.1. We do not understand why you would build a window like that. There is a plant that stares back.

    The overall winner is the corner flat at 90 Linden Row, where the sun lands from 7 in the morning until the afternoon and a sleepy dog waves at you through the glass. It earned a perfect 10, plus a bonus for the dog.

  • Backpacker Etiquette In Shared Boxes

    Shared boxes are the backbone of budget travel, so let us talk manners. Never sit in a box that already has a cat in it, unless the box is a really big one, and even then you must ask with your eyes.

    Do not knead the walls too loudly. Do not leave tail hair in the corners. Do not complain if someone else has the good corner. They have the good corner because they arrived first, and that is the whole philosophy of the road.

    If a box is full, wait. Another box will come. In my experience, another box always comes. Be kind, travel light, and leave the cardboard better than you found it, with a little less glue.

  • Slow Travel: I Spent A Week On One Cushion

    They say the real journey is internal. I decided to test that, and I stayed on a single blue cushion for seven days. I did not leave except for meals and one regrettable incident involving a door.

    On day one, I noticed the stitching. On day three, I found a crumb from the previous owner, a man named Greg. On day five, I understood something about time, and I forgot it by day six. On day seven, I felt more rested than I have ever been.

    The cushion has asked me to stay. I am considering it. I told it I would think it over, and then I fell asleep, which I think is a yes.

  • Phrasebook: Twelve Ways To Say Feed Me

    Language is the key to connecting with local cultures, so let me teach you the essential phrase in several dialects. In the Kitchen Dialect, you say ‘mrrow’ and stare. In the Hallway Dialect, you say ‘mrrrow’ and lead the person to the bowl.

    In the Bedroom Dialect, used at 4 AM, you simply bite an ankle. In the Formal Dialect, spoken only at the front door, you sit very straight and look at the human with a quiet, dignified sorrow.

    There are eight more, including the Ancient Mutter, a lost art practiced only by cats over fifteen. Every one of them means feed me. Every one of them works. This is how I travel the world on four sardines.

  • Festival Report: The Annual Great Yawn

    This year’s Great Yawn was the biggest yet, with more than 300 cats attending the cushion field behind the library. The festival begins at dusk when someone yawns. Then everyone yawns. Then it turns into a very long yawn that lasts around three hours.

    Highlights included a breathtaking yawn by Duchess Pip, whose mouth opened so wide that a moth flew in and out again. There was a stretching contest, a nap relay, and a food stall that sold only warm milk and pure silence.

    I danced. By which I mean I lay down. By which I mean it was the best night of my year. See you in September next year, or whenever I wake up.

  • Travel Insurance For People Who Fall Off Things

    Our new Fall Plan, underwritten by Fennel and a very small safe, covers the most common accidents a cat experiences abroad. Falling off a counter. Falling off a couch. Falling off a bookshelf you very much meant to be on.

    Premiums are 5 sardines per month. A basic fall pays 2 sardines and a sympathetic head tilt. A catastrophic fall, defined as more than three feet and observed by witnesses, pays 12 sardines and a promise not to bring it up at dinner.

    Claims must be filed within 48 hours. Please note that pretending you meant to do it is not a valid reason to withdraw a claim, though it is a very good reason to hide under the bed.