THE EMPTY SPACES

Year ago in the evenings I would head over to a local karaoke bar to smoke my pipe. My drink would be upstairs on the counter whil I myself lurked in the portico puffing away. An hour or two later, having unwound an spent time with my own head and no one else, few distractions, I would wander home, Apparently some of the people half my age did not like that. My pipe fumes were oppressively old white male.

They closed down a while back. Many of their old patrons have spread across the country. Some of them have experienced emotional or job-related issues.
I am still in sporadic contact with one or two of them.

The other customers I do not miss.

That portico was nice.


I am reminded of this because one of my geographically distant FB friends appears to be losing his marbles, or at least his moral bearings. I worry whether he can afford his insulin.
As well as feeding his cat.

I'll just assume (and hope) that his moral bearings will be missing for a while.
Then eventually return the better for wear.

I do not actually know much about the cat. Unlike many people he doesn't post pictures or short clips. I'm imaging a short-hair with bad temper and rancid mouse breath.

I am not a cat person, as I do not have a pet. But there is a ghost cat that occasionally visits in the morning when I'm still waking up. It wanders around a bit, does not knock things off surfaces, then sort of disappears.

There are probably animals spirits in many urban buildings. They are still fixated on favourite spaces and sunbeams, and do not wish to move on quite as yet.


No, I shan't look for a good brand of ghostly kitty kibble.
I'm happy that my digs are ghost mouse free.
No tiny squeaks or scurrying.



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