Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth
In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.
A Vacation of the Spirit: The Life and Times of Hoot Koomi, Feline Mahatma
Just why John decided to name his cat Koomi, I don't know.
But when he and I started dating one summer, we soon had her figured out.
Imagine Theosophy's Helena Blavatsky as a brown tabby. That would be Koomi. Obese, indolent, with an endemic frown and piercing eyes that put you in your place. No one ever saw Koomi move. Judging from the food dish and the litter box she must have; then it occurred to us that this must actually have been evidence of teleportation instead.
For Koomi-cat was no mere kitty. Clearly, this was none other than Hoot Koomi, the feline mahatma. After centuries spent guiding the evolution of souls—Koot Hoomi, anyone?—she had clearly decided to take an incarnation off. This time around, Hoot Koomi was not going to do anything she didn't want to do.
In fact, she wasn't going to do anything.
I'm sorry to say that the feline mahatma came to no good end. Long after John and I had stopped dating, I ran into him at a ritual and heard that she had choked to death after trying to eat a deflated balloon. Call it karma.
Oh well; life is hard enough as it is. Multiple lives must be even more exhausting. I hope Koomi got the rest she desired. If reincarnation is true, surely every soul deserves to take a life off every now and then.
Call it a vacation of the spirit.
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