pet connection

This morning’s news feeds brought the usual flurry of sick, unsettling stories of boys and young men torturing and killing animals. I just can’t post those anymore, or spend much time contemplating how rampant cruelty has become what seems to be a rite of passage for some young men, or a way to escape boredom for others.

Sighing in resignation, I tripped across a piece from England, about the passing of a pub cat by the name of Blackie:

Eighteen year-old Blackie patrolled the Nags Head, Orford Road, Walthamstow, scratching the ankles of kitchen staff and ensuring he was cuddled by customers.

The pub’s joint-owner, Flossie Parsons, said: “He was a bit of a rags to riches story. He was an adopted cat and at first he was like an East End gangster because he would throw his weight around.

“He had a wonderful personality and many of our customers came in to see him specially. He used to take part in our wine tasting events and liked a nice Merlot but hated Rioja.”

It’s a wonderful little story. Here’s the rest. Godspeed, good Blackie.

Share & Enjoy

Facebook	Twitter	Google Buzz	Digg
Technorati	StumbleUpon	Delicious	Email