Tabby Travel Co-op

Blog

  • Hidden Gems: The Crawlspace Under The Porch

    You will not find it on any map. You have to squeeze through a gap in the lattice, scrape your belly a bit, and trust a spider named Margot. But on the other side lies the most peaceful place on earth.

    Cool dirt. Dim light. Old garden tools that have retired. A family of mice that have an agreement with us not to talk about it. The silence under there is so deep you can hear your own whiskers think.

    I stayed for two days, and when I came out, the world looked slightly too loud. Margot waved goodbye with seven legs. The eighth was holding a snack.

  • Why I Quit My Job To Live In A Suitcase

    Last spring I had a job. I was a professional greeter at the front door, and I was very good at it, but I felt stuck. Every day the same people, the same shoes, the same smell of old rain. So I quit, and I climbed into a suitcase, and I have never been happier.

    It is dark. It is soft. It smells like a place that might one day be somewhere. My roommate is a pair of wool socks and we have not spoken.

    If you feel stuck, I cannot tell you what to do. But I can tell you that suitcases are warm and no one asks what you are doing in there. Come on in. There is room for one.

  • Visa Requirements For The Bathroom

    People keep asking me about entering the bathroom, so here is the plain truth. No visa is needed. The door is nearly always open, and a visitor may come and go as they please. The problem is leaving.

    Once inside, you will be admired, followed and, if you are unlucky, rinsed. Avoid the shower curtain. Avoid the toilet paper, which is a trap built by a rival nation. Do not drink from the toilet. I will not say more on that.

    If you need to leave quickly, run in circles until a door opens. It always does. Our travel insurance covers one accidental flush attempt per member per year.

  • A Love Letter To The Sunbeam That Moves

    To the sunbeam that crosses my living room every afternoon: I love you, and I resent you. You arrive at 1:12, glorious and golden, and I put my entire body into you. You leave at 3:40, with no warning, and take the warmth with you.

    I follow you across the carpet, a dozen inches at a time, like a pilgrim. I have rolled across the whole floor in your wake. I have never reached the end of you. Maybe the end of you is the end of the day.

    Sunbeam, if you are reading this, please slow down. I have so much more to say. I have only just begun to lie here.

  • Member Of The Month: Tobias, Who Went Behind The Fridge

    Every month we honor a member who has gone above and beyond. This month it is Tobias, a shy black cat who last Thursday did something no one at the cooperative has done in recent memory. He went behind the fridge.

    He was gone for nine hours. When he came out he was covered in dust, holding a bottle cap, and he had a thousand yard stare. He said, ‘It is bigger back there than you think.’ Then he went to bed for two days.

    Tobias receives a free night at the Hostel Under The Stairs and a commemorative bottle cap. We have also installed a small sign near the fridge. It says ‘Tobias was here.’

  • Meeting Locals: A Gentle Guide To Not Getting Hissed At

    I have met so many beautiful locals on my travels, and almost all of them hissed at me, so I have learned a lot. The first rule is slow blinking. It is a language older than words. Blink slowly, then look away. If they blink back, congratulations, you are friends.

    If they hiss, back up. Do not explain yourself. Do not offer a snack unless you plan to leave it and go. And never, ever sit in their chair.

    The best local I ever met was a one eyed calico named Dolores. She showed me her favorite sink. We never spoke. It was the deepest conversation of my year.

  • Night Train To The Laundry Basket

    The night train leaves at 10:07 sharp from the end of the hall, and it is not a train, it is a very patient sock that I sit on. I board with a ticket made of pure intention. The sock rocks gently as I turn in circles.

    We travel through several stations. The Dresser. The Closet. The Dark Place Behind The Shoes, which is spooky but has great acoustics. Finally we arrive at the Laundry Basket, where a stranger’s towel is waiting to be my bed.

    I sleep for fourteen hours. I wake up a different cat, mostly because I am in a different part of the house. Strongly recommend. Bring a snack for the journey.

  • The Cooperative Budget Report: Living On Four Sardines A Day

    Our treasurer Fennel ran the numbers for members who want to travel cheap, and they are surprisingly doable. A full day of wandering costs four sardines if you do it right. Breakfast is whatever someone left out. Lunch is a sip of someone else’s water. Dinner is a negotiation.

    Lodging is free if you sleep in a box. Transport is free if you walk. Entertainment is free if you stare at a bird. The only real cost is the occasional emotional collapse, which you can bill to the cooperative at a flat 2 sardines.

    Fennel asks that you keep receipts. Fennel also asks that you stop eating the receipts.

  • Solo Travel On The Edge Of The Bathtub

    I did it. I walked the entire rim of the bathtub, solo, all 5 feet 4 inches of it. The porcelain was cold under my paws and a single drip of water fell from the tap every four seconds. I counted them. It felt like meditating, if meditating also meant being completely ready to fall.

    Halfway along I stopped and looked down into the empty tub, and I understood something about the nature of fear. I do not remember what. It had to do with water.

    I made it to the far end, trembling with pride. Then I fell in. It was dry. Nobody saw. I am telling you now.

  • Letters From The Windowsill Coast

    Dear everyone back home. I am writing this from the third windowsill on the left, where the sun comes in like a wave. There is a begonia that has seen things. There is a spider that has seen more.

    I have made friends with a fly. He is very fast and I think he is mocking me, but we have formed a bond. He circles. I watch. It is the most profound relationship of my life.

    I miss you all, and I miss the tuna even more, but I cannot leave yet. The light is too good. The fly says hello. Love, your wandering friend, from a spot about nine feet from the bed.