Zmiana sposobu prezentacji
I am surprised to know that with utmost care and mostly confining them indoors, a cat can live up to 15-20 years. None of the cats I know about including the ones I call my own has survived a life of more than 6-7 years. The only exception within my knowledge is "Whitehead", a visiting male cat over 10 years of age, who inspite of having many near-death encounters is still there. Just when it seems I have seen the last of him, he reappears to confound me. Meanwhile he has lost all his teeth along with other natural drives of life other than the urge to live. His survival for over a decade without ever getting enough food is for me a wonder. As with Whitehead, I keep my cats outdoor and feed them a dual meal although cats are happier staying indoor (think about cold winter nights) if their basic needs are met. Whitehead is neither a regular nor a welcomed visitor to my home. He is satisfied with whatever scraps is left for him and comes now more out of habit (I would prefer to call it attachment for me) than necessity. But 15-20 years is still a long call for him.
Some of these days, I intend to send postcards to my son, to all my friends and acquaintances, to girlfriends past (no present), to whosoever matter- even one to my wife that she would take out lovingly from our letter box. Letter Box? Are there any, any more? The one in my house is pathetically hanging on the last nail, dirty with disuse, symbolic of the bygone eras when writing and receiving letters to and from dear ones was a craze. How I miss the romance of the wait for a postcard/inland/air-mail, the tidings they brought, the readings and re-readings and even reading out to others. An inland envelop is still there in my book shelf, yet to be impregnated with words, its blue color gone pale - again symbolic of a dying time! A conspiring technology bent on turning my world up side down - email, cellphone - has snatched away from people of my generation the simple pleasures of life - the golden romances that lay in waiting for a letter, hands groping in the letter box. I lament it's no more, I can't even remember when I received my last personal letter.
But some corner in my heart still waits for a letter. Will it ever come?
