Tis not that Dying hurts us so

Often we try to comfort ourselves with many a reason for things that happen, we try to comprehend by asking questions and making up answers. At the same time, hundreds of other questions linger in our minds, whether they be things we really do not know or things we blame ourselves for or things we wish have gone differently. Perhaps it is just the way humans are, we are in constant search for answers to life's (or death's) many questions. Some times, there are no real answers, and we should be at peace with that fact. Everything goes in full circles, eventually.

'Tis not that Dying hurts us so --
'Tis Living -- hurts us more --
But Dying -- is a different way --
A Kind behind the Door --

The Southern Custom -- of the Bird --
That ere the Frosts are due --
Accepts a better Latitude --
We -- are the Birds -- that stay.

The Shrivers round Farmers' doors --
For whose reluctant Crumb --
We stipulate -- till pitying Snows
Persuade our Feathers Home.

- Emily Dickinson

Capone

He has definitely gotten himself a spot in the heart of everyone who lives along our little lane. One would often find him curled up on top of some car in the garage, most likely one that has just driven in and with the engine still hot. The ginger cat with the sure, relaxed, almost arrogant gait is no other than Capone. He is a neighbour's cat, but in reality he must feel like he's everyone's master. When he fancies it, he'll be quite friendly and follow you around. But on occasions, he won't even flinch or respond to your whistles because he is on an agenda. Once I saw him on top of the roof trying to catch some birds... poor Capone the bell around his neck is a dead giveaway.

For two days he was with us. One early morning, I was about to head off to work... I opened the door and suddenly an orange thing bolted to the doorstep. Ah, ol' Capone must be freezing outside! But there's no way I would let him in. So I closed the door behind me, and walked off. His stares must have made me turn back; in no time I have opened the door again for him and he ran straight in... I headed off to work. He has been sleeping on the comfy white chair the whole day. In the evening, he wouldn't leave even with much prodding. He'll sniff the cold night's air, take one step and turn back to jump onto the chair he's taken as territory. He slept on the beanbag for half the night, when I realised (for the second half) that he's taken the liberty to share my duvet. Sneaky!

The second day and second night he was still making himself comfortable around the place. Sniffing around, curious of every single thing, even the papers and crosswords. Now who wouldn't fall in love and want to keep such a sweet (although sneaky, sometimes snobbish furball)?

The look of a cat who thinks he's better than anybody else. Crosswords eh?... I found myself a new challenger!

Capone now deep in concentration, even he couldn't figure out some of the impossibly difficult words!