Friday, December 4, 2015


Well, yes. I have.

I don't suppose they'd give him back, if I called.

Judging by the triple 6 in the phone number I'm guessing this is a hoax, anyway.

I was thinking what to do with Estorbo's ashes. It makes no sense to hang onto them. They live in a lurid little purple gift bag from the pet crematorium, in the back of a closet. Along with a clay-impressed paw print given to us by his well meaning vet, but which I cannot bear to look at.

Two options appeal to me: Scatter the ashes on his old rooftop, where he hunted and jumped and observed the world. Then he'd blow about in the wind that made him flatten his ears. Or put them on a little paper boat (the Frenchman is very good at making them) and float him into the Buttermilk Channel (between Brooklyn and Governor's Island), about which he used to tell tall tales - he herded his cattle over there for summer grazing. That would be neater, and would also ensure that no one inhaled cat dust by accident.

And if you have no idea what I'm going on about, hold steady. Regular programming will be back, shortly.

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