Death is the grand spoiler. She interrupts, spoils, disrupts, and shocks. She is the ultimate Shock Jock. And I hate her. We all hate her.
Recently she stole my Ricky cat, and I can smell her hovering over my two old, arthritic horses. And, who knows? She may even have her vacuous eye on me as I drive, as I shop, as I sleep. One never knows when or where the spoiler will next appear.
Just two days ago she came to my friend, Mare's, house and stole her cat, Meg--Mare's best buddy for 20 years and 4 months. She came stealthily, leaving little signs for months, like mouse turds in a cabinet, that she had an eye on Meg. As Meg's appetite grew slimmer and slimmer, Mare knew Death was stalking her friend. She did all she could do to stave off the rancid devil, but she showed up for an overnight visit the other night.
And that was the end of Meg.
I post Meg's picture here so that not only my friends can appreciate Mare's cat for her loyalty, her affectionate nature, her lust for life, but also so that Death can see it too, if she's on Facebook, Twitter, or reads my blogs. I want Death to know that she fails in so many ways. She fails because we all have the ability to remember our loved ones and pass on their memory to others who may remember and pass it on to still others. She fails because in our various ways, many of us prepare memorials to the one who she's taken from us and, therefore, keep that dead one alive. She fails because, through science and good medicine, we mortals can often hold her back until she comes at us with a vengeance. She fails because we eventually triumph over our misery.
Death, you loser, Be Not Proud!
