Some words you just say so much that you forget what they sound like.

 

I have two grown cats that a friend of mine gave me, and their names are Sammy and Rambo. I think Rambo's name was Ryan before, but when I brought him home for the first week or so he went up on top of the kitchen cabinets and wouldn't come down and would hiss at anyone who walked by. He reminded me of one of those insane Vietnam vets who live alone in tar paper shacks in the mountains and throw live hand grenades at anyone who walked past.

 

And, if cats had been deployed to active duty in Vietname and if they could be trained to throw hand grenades, I'm sure this cat would have been the first to volunteer.

 

I have two other cats named Chewbacca and Mr. Meow Meow Von Fluffington, and it turns out that they're both insane as well, as I think that most cats are. I didn't really name them, as I like to think they all kind of named themselves. I don't even think of them as my cats, really, as much as Free Citizens of The Universe.

 

The two older and more insane of the cats don't have claws, so they stay inside most of the time. They used to go out on the back porch a lot, until Mr. Meow Meow tore out one of the screens, ran free for two months and then invited every cat in the universe back to my porch for an extended cat-party. Apparently, they even invited a racoon and two squirrels.

 

Rambo got bit on the leg by something and we've been taking care of him for the last week or so. We're not sure what it was that bit him but we're almost positive that he deserved it. I've grown really fond of the cats, but the way I see it is, I take them in and feed them and take care of them, and that's about my compassion and my karma. That's me fulfilling my own nature, and acting to reduce the suffering that's in the universe. If these cats get themselves eaten doing bone-headed stuff, that's on them.

 

I'll miss them, but I'll write operas of their bravery and bury them where they lay.

 

The end.