Plato’s Dad

Our cat Plato is 11 years old and his father just died. That fact that I am aware of this fact and that we were able to carry the news to Plato is amazing to me — amazing that a chain of people connected so remotely can stay intact over time and distance – I heard from my wife who heard from an old and occassional friend of hers on the east coast who heard from her antique boyfriend of a decade ago who owned Plato’s father. Wow.

Plato seems sullen today. I think either he understood or he’s tapped into the universoul, as cats are.

ORA blog: SliMP3, iRock, etc.

One Reply to “Plato’s Dad”

  1. No worries! I’ve seen Plato proud as punch in Manchester U.K. He was sitting proud as punch like a little lion guarding his house throughout the night on the highest pedestal for all to see but still cunningly safe as houses. I didn’t recognize him at first, because as you know he ignores everyone who just passes him by, but when I realized that it might be him he looked into my eyes and I realized that it was him.
    Unfortunately our family agreed to call him Bilko. We were not very well read. I was the only one in who ended up reading his works. At least his name still ended with an “o”. But I was the only one in the family who ever talked to him. Everyone else just treated him as a fourth brother.
    When at last I grew up and started to make sure that none of my older brothers could bully him I took him on a trip around my old haunts and taught him how to believe in me as I had once believed in him.
    He died when left home. They murdered him because he could only love me.
    They say that a cat has nine lives. I say that nine-times-nine is eighty one. Every time that you fall in love with him love is safe.

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