Thursday, November 10, 2011

The Prince of Cats

For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?

And what is it to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?

Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.

And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.

And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.

--Kahlil Gibran

Splendid journey, my Beloved. Dance and sing in grace.


  1. The only cat I can recall who would happily accept my scritches, then bat at me. Playful, lordly, and dignified. A cat in full.

  2. Tom: he was giving you a chance to do it right, and then he was letting you know how you did. :)

    He was all that, yes: playful, lordly, dignified. He adored the laser pointer, and indeed would take a swipe at it with what little energy he had left as recently as a few days before he died. He would ride shoulders as if entitled to the mount. He would purr easily and often.

    And if petted him wrong, he'd bat at me, too. I learned fast.

    As Pratchet would say, he knew his own mind. He lived on his own terms, and he died on them, too.