I remember reading a story about someone burying cat bones in front of the Museum of Natural History and the shovel kept hitting boxes of dead pets that have been buried there for decades. Was that in the Metropolitan Diary, years back?
1
Not meaning to detract from what is kind of a cute story, but why didn't Fred bury his own cat? I would think burying dead bodies would be one of the skills the CIA teaches you.
6
His name wouldn't be Schrödinger by chance?
3
No, probably not. He was even older. Perhaps Kater Murr.
This is a lovely story — but what in holy hell happened to Metropolitan Diary? The potpourri of absurd, funny, acid, piquant anecdotes (punctuated by occasional doggerel) that used to at least make me smile if not chortle in my oatmeal have been replaced by a steady stream of anodyne, maudlin tearjerkers. I really miss the old slant.
5
I think it's amazing, the simple things that bind us.
4
Please read with the voice of Boris from the Bullwinkle cartoons...
I'm sorry comrades, ehem, I mean fellow readers: Where did you say the box of microfilm, ehem, I mean long lost kitty was deposited? I am most sad about kitty that I cannot find.
I'm sorry comrades, ehem, I mean fellow readers: Where did you say the box of microfilm, ehem, I mean long lost kitty was deposited? I am most sad about kitty that I cannot find.
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I live in the DC area and if you read the obituaries in the Washington Post many of the deceased work for the CIA in some capacity. The retirement community down the road from me is full of ex-CIA people some of whom were probably agents and not just office people.
2
I thought CIA agents never identified their employer.
7
Depends on whether they are "overt" or "covert".
3
A touching story about a tough cold warrior who trusted his young lady friends with his life stories and his beloved cat. Thank you for sharing it with us.
14
When I tearfully had to have Molly “put to sleep,” the vet asked if I would like to have her cremated remains. Without thinking, I said yes. So a few weeks later, a package arrived with a tacky little flower-print tin box. The “ashes” seemed quite a bit heavier than I would have expected, given that she wasn't a large cat.
What does one do with a tacky little box that might or might not be Molly? For several years, I kept so-called-Molly in a closet. Why did I say yes? I started calling the box “Fake Molly” because, honestly, it weighed way too much. But I couldn’t just chuck it, could I? I needed to find a respectable resting place for Fake Molly.
I finally decided on the Pond in Central Park, near Hallett Nature Sanctuary. I lovingly sprinkled the contents under a shrub… contents that looked a lot like kitty litter, if you ask me. Anyway, whatever was in that box got a lovely resting place before I chucked the box in a street corner trashcan. I now enjoy remembering Molly and Fake Molly when ever I walk by.
What does one do with a tacky little box that might or might not be Molly? For several years, I kept so-called-Molly in a closet. Why did I say yes? I started calling the box “Fake Molly” because, honestly, it weighed way too much. But I couldn’t just chuck it, could I? I needed to find a respectable resting place for Fake Molly.
I finally decided on the Pond in Central Park, near Hallett Nature Sanctuary. I lovingly sprinkled the contents under a shrub… contents that looked a lot like kitty litter, if you ask me. Anyway, whatever was in that box got a lovely resting place before I chucked the box in a street corner trashcan. I now enjoy remembering Molly and Fake Molly when ever I walk by.
24
A friend's brother committed suicide and everyone took the box of ashes to a marina and threw it in, so he could be "buried at sea".
Of course the box floated, and after much hysteria one of the bereaved had to swim out and dunk it.
Well, better than a trash can.
Of course the box floated, and after much hysteria one of the bereaved had to swim out and dunk it.
Well, better than a trash can.
7
Just a few hours before leaving for a vacation, I discovered that one of our backyard chickens had died. She was my favorite, nicknamed “Einstein” because of her seemingly high intelligence compared to the other hens. A big chicken she was, and we had no freezer space, and no time to dig a hole. I drove Einstein to our vet. The vet asked if I wanted the ashes, and somewhat grief stricken I said yes. On our fireplace mantle is a lovely box with her ashes, with a poem starting with, “Your pet has crossed the rainbow bridge...” Yes, clucking all the way.
1
Gives a whole new meaning to the term "dead drop."
29
But - you never double checked the box to be sure it was cat remains you were interring?
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Brilliant observation!
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My thought exactly. The headline and story certainly imply that the erstwhile cat coffin ought to have contained some stray Pentagon Papers, JFK assassination evidence, or at least a little black book of great restaurants in Moscow.
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I'm sorry to say this but surely this innocuous little reminiscence is not newsworthy.
13