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A Farewell to Meatball

July 3, 2012

Meatball has left the street. He has left Charlottesville. His longtime companion came by on Saturday and — without ceremony but not without difficulty — took him away. It was the end of an era but life continued pretty much as it always has on the territory he claimed as his own. Even the little catchable creatures were too busy with their little creature business to feel much relief, while the big-brained bipeds scarcely paused in their wild mental machinations to notice the change. The cats prowled a little differently, their tacit turf maps redrawn.

Meatball has been taken to Richmond, a mythic city to the east. Long ago it served as the headquarters of a vicious racist  breakaway regime that bloodied the landscape of America. More recently it led the nation in per capita murders, until even the murderers became discouraged and disheartened by the overwhelming sadness of the place. At night, the streets are haunted by roving gangs of tattooists, looking for unwary travelers to permanently ink. Most of the people are drunk most of the time.  The rest are smoking crack, shooting smack, or hopped up on goofballs. The stifling tropical heat would allow mangoes and papayas to flourish in the city’s gardens, if there were any gardens, which there are not.

This is what I have heard of Richmond from those who claim to have been there. I do not know whether Meatball will be happy in such a place. I hope so. Maybe Richmond needs Meatball more than Charlottesville does, and maybe Meatball needs a change. You could look at it that way, if you were that sort of grinning gormless doofus.

All I can say is, farewell my fine furry friend. We will meet again in Valhalla.

From → Meatball

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