Magical Mister

I can't even begin to imagine what sort of eulogy to write. Barely three days after his brother died, Bonzo did too. Suddenly, in the middle of heated Johnson Market activity, I feel rootless. And I have nothing to say now, that will explain what this loss means to me. In Cooke Town, where I hated my house and my life and everything that I had allowed myself to become, Bonzo was, towards the end, the only thing that I went home to.

When The Saab had moved out, and my deep distaste for my neighbours was becoming evident, this was the Goose that kept me going. For a couple of months, he was all I had, and vice versa. And after three days of looking for him, posters around the neighbourhood, and everyone in the vicinity being unbelieveably helpful, we heard from someone that they had found his body.

I will hate coming back to this house devoid of little chiming bells and loud presumptuous meaows. And I truly hope that The Saab and I learn to remember both cats at their bizarre best, rather than as mental pictures of death.

I promise to write a better eulogy to a cat who no doubt deserves it, when I am better equipped to do so. Till then, I will endeavour to help The Saab, Sushma and myself on whatever road to a semblance of recovery, that we can afford.

Bonzo, you were my main man. And thank God you have the wit and sophistication to understand that fully. God knows, I don't.

Here's a grumpy Bonzo, till I can access all my other pictures.

Love, and more.