This may come as something of a surprise to those who know me or those who knew Poe, but I once considered for the length of a Greyhound bus trip from San Luis Obispo to Los Angeles who I could give him away to. What? Yes, it was for love and allergies. Push never came to shove and I never had to make that painful decision. At least not then.

A handful of years later I did have to make the even more painful (and yet somehow "easier") decision to end his days on Earth. This is the horrible conclusion to having a pet; some "comedian" somewhere (I think it was Louis C.K.) related bringing a new animal into the home as bringing home your own little tragedy. This lesson is not lost on me. It started as a "joke;" I would name the new addition to my family after losing Poe Thurman. Why did I say I would name him that? Because that way I would always remember and never forget that he would die. An awful approach maybe? A realistic one for certain...

I felt the shift in energy as soon as I entered the house. Something new was amiss; something was in disarray and it hit me like two tons of bricks. And really what I was sensing is a tip of a secured iceberg. Quality of life has become something of a personal mantra and I suppose it is one we all either choose to examine -- or not. Yes, in many ways life is a series of compromises, changes and re-considerations.

It is often very easy for someone "visiting" to say what you should or should not do. "Well, if I were you..." is very easy to say, but none of us are ever "you." We may walk a mile in your moccasins, but that is but a mile in a journey that isn't really counted by the mile.

Am I being cryptic? I most likely am and I do apologize for that. At some point perhaps I can be more direct, but today does not feel like that day. Sometimes my great big (Buddhist?) epiphany to "play every single day" as the only valid way to combat the all-important eye-opening truth that every thing is temporary seems impractical at best, juvenile at worst. A hopeful thought through dark days, a sobering one through joyous ones, I suppose but it fails to answer every question that Life tosses at us.

My thoughts and prayers are being directed where I hope they can even help move that boulder up that hill even an inch more than could be done without them. And as I write that last sentence I glance over and spy Thurman entertaining himself with one of his favorite toys and I know how much I get from that little feline monster and like all of us, hope to keep as much of that lively spirit as close as possible for as long as possible.

Really? What else can we honestly ask for?