"COLUMBUS" LIVES ON

If this appears ethereal, there is a reason.  There is a story here.  You bet!  This cat represents one of the lives that a cat named "Columbus" has.  It was yesterday, Sunday, after Mass, when I was walking back home and was still about one hundred yards away from the house.  From behind me, over my left shoulder a slinky, tight-bodied, tall and elongated feral cat with a long, stiffly held tail and a determined demeanor gained on me and passed me by without so much a "by-your-leave."  He, I prefer to think it was a "he" for the purpose of this story, slid off to the left through a hedge and proceeded to go toward the garbage disposal area of the houses in the neighborhood.  The neighborhood used to  have brigades of feral cats.  Many of them were the offspring of a household cat that we once had.  His name was "Christopher" when we got him as a three month old kitten.  I am not a believer in names for animals, but the children and Belle insisted that the cat had to have a name.  I said, "OK, but not 'Christopher.'"  You can tell that "Columbus" was a rather easy logical step for them to take in their naming game.  It was also decided that the cat was to be an outside cat and a vermin hunter.  Truth to tell, this worked out rather well.  For about a year.  After that the cat population began to swell perceptibly and the amount of food that they were consuming became more than somewhat considerable. Table scraps, of course.  I have a rule about feeding cats and dogs.  "If you're hungry, go kill something."  Lazy cats that these were, they even learned to eat rice and vegetables, left-overs from last week.  I found out that this was happening when I couldn't find my rice and Brussels' sprouts one day. My mother-in-law got an earful that day.  But we laughed it off.
Now the cat population, as it grew, took on a certain hue that indicated that "Columbus" was one busy guy.  The promiscuity of that "animal" was legendary.  The whole mile-long ridge of Linda vista was crawling with ash-grey cats.  Directly engendered by one, "Columbus," I'm veery sure.  The comical [and frustrating part for me] was that they were finding the major part of their sustenance in our back yard, thanks to "Lola."  There even came a time when we no longer saw "Columbus" for weeks on end.  He had turned into a "C & E" pet.  This went on for a long time.  Some years passed until one day, late in the afternoon, we saw "Columbus."  Laid out in the back yard, rigor mortis was evident already.  He had come back home to die.  Just as in the stories that we have all heard and disbelieved, that cats always come home to die.  He did it.
Now, the rest of the ferals didn't care.  They still wanted to eat without having to hunt.  They got fed for a few more years until Lola [Grandma and second mother to our boys] became incapacitated and could no longer feed the herd. ["Herd" is not the correct term, but you know what I mean.]  The result was that the population went down, but the count of the ash-grey offspring was still holding its own.  By yesterday, we were at least seven years distant from the incapacitation of Lola.  So, I am writing this to celebrate the fact that there is at least one tough looking Tom carrying the "Columbus" gene to the fair damsels, and surely, to the unfair ones too.  "Columbus" was a rather cuddly guy.  This descendant is a "Terminator."  I am convinced that he peels rust scales off of old car parts for breakfast.  So, good job, "Columbus."  You timed it just right, Ol' Buddy. You showed up in my mind through your Avatar on my last day in the neighborhood before I turn 75.
If there are any of you who believe in coincidence, give it up.  It's more fulfilling to believe in Providence.  That way, you'll always have a connection to the higher things in life.
This is not what I was going to talk to you about tonight, but this has been more fun.  Besides, by tomorrow, I will have 24 hours of experience at my new age.  By then I'll be an expert at it and will be able to tell you in great detail about how it feels.