A site of satirical musings, commentary and/or rhetorical criticism of the world at large.

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Location: Southeastern, Pennsylvania, United States

Monday, July 09, 2007


When Anne Marie and I moved back to Pennsylvania, we met the nicest group of neighbors that we could’ve hoped for. One of these neighbors, the Heberts, owned a small flock of cats of various types and ages. One of the cats, mostly white with a brown spot here and there, was originally named Boy. We’ve always known him as Woobie.

Although each of the humans in the immediate neighborhood paid for the land we lived on, we all knew that Woobie was the real owner. He certainly acted like he was the real owner, strutting around our property and the two adjacent properties each day. He patrolled and surveyed his kingdom with all the dignity and grace of an aging monarch.

I must admit one thing: Woobie was an absolute terror on the local wildlife. Birds trembled at his sight; mice and voles would have to be on their guard constantly when he was outside. Obviously, Woobie felt this was part of his job; part of his reason to exist was to keep these little critters on their toes. He made sure that they would not harm his humans, or his human friends living within his territory.

Of course, the wildlife would strike back on occasion. At various times Woobie would have a run-in with a groundhog or a squirrel. When this happened Woobie would get a few days off, recuperating at the local vet, and coming home with medications to ward off any infections from his wounds. Each of these episodes probably took away one of Woobie’s proverbial nine lives, but he didn’t let it deter him. He was always back on the job within a few days, patrolling and protecting his property like nothing happened.

Woobie reached the end of his ninth life over the weekend. He had been ill with diabetes for awhile and recently all of us noticed that he was losing weight. He hadn’t lost his zest for hunting, but his health was declining nevertheless. All of us who knew him agree that after fifteen years he had lived a good, long life.

Woobie, I will miss seeing you walk across my driveway in the morning as I leave for work. Once I saw you fertilize a flowerbed near my garage. Your mother chastised you for being rude, but I didn’t mind. After all, it was more than I had ever done for those flowers.

I will miss you at your parents’ barbecues, jumping up on my seat, and sniffing the air for the aroma of meat coming from the grill.

I will miss watching you walk your parents around your property every night, at your insistence.

Mostly, I will miss those very rare occasions when you would rub your back on our sidewalk, and invite us to scratch your head. You leave us with many wonderful memories and a kingdom of critters to fend off for ourselves. Don’t worry about them; we’ll take care of them in your memory.


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