meow
T won't be going to the pub tonight because her cat died--of cancer. There was a tumor in its stomach, poor cat. It seems that every living thing on this planet is getting cancer, better check on my plant, Bob. Somehow, I find it difficult to relate to pet owners who have lost their pets. To me, these animals are only "its", without gender "he" or "she". But I try to be as sympathetic as possible. However, this does remind me of one of my favorite childhood storybooks--Fred, by Posy Simmonds. He was a lazy bum at day, but a superstar by night. His owners only find out until they attend the cat funeral organized by other cat fans.
Oh oh oh, Posy Simmonds also has a column which appears every Saturday in the Guardian--Literary Life. Love the way how she portrays white middle-class elites.