It was a sunny Saturday, the first dry and warm day in a long, wet and cool summer.  I stood at my patio door admiring the jungle that I call my backyard.  I am trying an English garden scenario.  It means lots of bushes, perennials and wild plants that I cannot name but they look attractive.  Who knew that the really pretty ones were goldenrod which is enemy of hay fever sufferers?  Not me. 

As I try to decide if I have the the motivation to mow the tiny patch of remaining grass, I see Fred.  He emerges from behind my compost pile.  He has a mouse in his jaws.  Fred walks slowly over to the patio.  He  looks me in the eye and he begins to eat the mouse.  Fortunately, the mouse is dead before he starts his snacking. Still, once again, he has managed to repulse me.  Now, I cannot mow my lawn while he dines on his rodent.  I must wait until he is done.  Then I find the remains and return them to the compost pile from whence they came.  

I picture the spouse of the mouse discovering the body.  Will they take it as a warning to leave the neighbourhood?  Or is the sudden death of a fellow rodent just another part of life for them?

We humans have family and friends snatched from our midsts with no warning.  We try to make sense of their departures.  I cannot imagine a life in which as we walk down the street, a humungous cat appears and snaps up the slowest one.  Or the oblivious one.  Or the biggest one.  Or the the smallest one.

Perhaps we should.  Maybe that is what Fred is trying to tell me.  Life is fragile and can end in an instant.  One day you are minding your own business, exploring a compost pile.  The next minute you are cat chow.   

 So, live your life now and today.  My cat may be waiting patiently around the corner to take you out.

I would hate to have to throw you into my compost pile.