Courtesy of Nattering Naybob.
For my friend… A wonderful condolence from a friend…
I am not nearly the writer that you are and don’t feel that I can appropriately tell you how I feel about the loss of a loved one other than to tell you that today, nine years ago, my dearest Carol died at 2AM.
It’s nice to have so much more space in the house, to snore without being asked to roll over, to do the things that bachelor’s do without comment, but the trade-off seems not to be worth it. I would trade the battle for the lack of it if I could, but I take solace in knowing that during the two and a half years from lump awareness to that last cold kiss I did everything I could to stop that horrible process. There is nothing I regret.
There were a few times when she was right and I was wrong, but now I don’t know when I’m wrong. Maybe that’s good, but probably not. At least felinicus probably never scolded you…but on the other hand, it may have been reflected in a perceived look or shredded furniture.
Your pal was a lucky critter. She had love, food, and a long and great life. Is there more?
I don’t know, but I’ll tell you… along those lines, we thank all of our friends for their kind words, with an interesting follow up on One Man’s Best Friend Part 2…
“There must be some way out of here” said the joker to the thief ”There’s too much confusion”, I can’t get no relief…”
“Was Mistletoe’s a familiar? To be certain she was an assistant and divined information.”
Point in fact, we firmly believe that miracles are that which cannot yet be explained. So my friends know me to be less than “superstitious“ in my belief system. Knowing that all pass and measure their time; some with hope, some with joy and some with fear, the following piece of non fiction is submitted for your perusal…
What is Your Sign?
On the way to the Vet, while stopped at an intersection, a butterfly flew towards Mistletoe’s window. Leaping off the seat and onto the passenger door armrest, my familiar insisted that she could get to the butterfly which had perched outside on top of the passenger door. Despite butterfly’s being in short order this year, and due to the circumstances, I declined to open the window.
“No reason to get excited”, the thief he kindly spoke“There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke”….
Seeing as how no one of this world, had yet to make post mortem contact with me, I requested of my feline friend that if she should arrive in the afterlife or “promised land“, to please show me a sign.
Where is Your Sign?
Sign #1? 60 minutes after my request, Mistletoe’s had been checked out of the Hotel California, and despite repeatedly attempting to close both sets of eyelids, they refused to shut and kept reopening. Leaving both the Vet and myself a bit mystified. Post mortem physical response?
Sign #2? Having to run an errand, I returned home 90 minutes after my request had been made. I had keepsake shavings of Mistletoe’s black hair, white hair and some whisker in a piece of aluminum foil. The split second I pulled that packet from my wallet, the power to our residence failed and tripped the breaker. Coincidence?
Sign #3: Rather than requesting, please go reset the breaker, my wife said: Your not going to believe this, you have to see what’s happening on the balcony clothesline. Without hesitation, I responded: don’t tell me there’s a butterfly on our clothes?
My wife responded: Oh no, it’s better than that, butterfly sex, they have been at it for about 30 minutes. As the hair on the back on my neck stood up, I smiled, rolled my eyes up to the sky, shook my head and uttered, Really?
Three Strikes Your Out?
Upon further review, there were no other butterflies to be found mating in the area. The busy pair remained locked in embrace for most of the night, with the tired female flying off into the clouded morning sky. As we watched, I wondered, was there a glimmer, glint or glimpse of something just a little extra in the lining of those clouds?
“But you and I, we’ve been through that, and this is not our fate So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late”….
We hope you enjoyed this tale of non fiction, told as it actually happened. One can only measure the preceding for what its worth in their own estimation, utilizing a yardstick of hope, joy, fear or combination thereof. Speaking of estimates, measurements, belief systems and passing time…
The clocks and calendars used to measure time are made by men, and yet, it is something not quite yet understood, that creates that very precious time which passes on them. The validity of promises of “overtime” for “good behavior” in this world not withstanding, no one can prolong their allotted time, they can only live it to the fullest in the here and now.
Along those lines, we thank our faithful familiar Mistletoe’s, the Divine Miss M or Choco-bee, assistant and diviner of information, for seemingly going the extra mile and giving us an extra growl, point in fact, two better than our original request.
In the end, whether one “believes” or not, giving pause and consideration for the title of this missive, leaves this one to shake his head, wonder, ponder and utter with a smile and misty eye, Really, I don’t know, but I’ll tell you.
Outside in the distance a wildcat did growlTwo riders were approaching, the wind began to howl. – All Along The Watchtower – Bob Dylan
In memory of Mistletoe’s One Man’s Best Friend. Thank you my friend.
