the post-phaeronic pact

i recently read of the discovery of a 16,000-year-old grave in jordan containing the remains of a prehistoric man and what was presumably his faithful animal companion, a red fox.

the dog-like creature, it is thought, is an early manifestation of what is commonly known as man’s best friend.

and as charming as that may seem, i dare say – in the literal end – the fox did not consider man to be fox’s best friend…

prior to having his neck snapped, and had he the capacity, he may have mused something like this: sure, i signed on for the share of the hunt, the warmth of the fire, and some inter-species companionship (except the weird stuff during the mead parties), but could you please explain why – exactly – i have to off it just because my big smelly buddy did?

and so it has gone through the ages.

the egyptians – and others – refined the concept, throwing not just animals into the mix, but servants, the occasional wife. no shortage of motivation for keeping the master of the house healthy.

and that, to my mind, is a very one-sided and tragic legacy.

so i have decided to do my little bit to rectify.

a recent addition to our family is a lovely and loving tuxedo cat by the name of ringo, at present sleeping peacefully and with great trust at my feet, his black fur even more luxuriant than my own. though already appearing full-grown, he is in fact still a kitten.

but his time, as with all living things, will come.

and i have decided that when it does, i will join him on that daunting ride into the unknown, so that we may sleep together, forever…

that may strike you as somewhat extreme, even entirely unnecessary. i promise you it is not. in fact, i would argue that the practice should be legislated and made mandatory throughout the world.

think of it. what a kind gesture of atonement. and, i postulate, a potent step on the road to salvation (of the secular kind).

the side benefit is the neat and novel way it would help to mitigate the only real problem we face – our ever-burgeoning population.

the crisis is not climate change, warring ideologies or diminishing resources, but the simple fact that there are far too many of us. so, die with your pet and save the planet… humanely… method of your choosing.

and we could – nay should – also institute it as a kind of annual festival, a celebratory homage to the fragility of existence.

invited would be only the worthiest of the worthy among us.

luminaries such as, oh, i don’t know… kim jong il & son, than shwe, omar al-bashir, or lighter weights of the ilk of sarah palin and glenn beck. perhaps as well – on a personal note – anyone who has ever slighted me, real and perceived. the list goes on and on.

then, after the wine is drunk, the songs are sung, and dawn’s light teases on the horizon, present each attendee with a happy on-your-way swag bag. including, of course, a single goldfish…

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