Ever confuse coincidence with causality? It can be fun. Somebody you meet on a demo in Madison, Wisconsin shows up at a concert weeks later in San Francisco. Wow! The ex-girlfriend of a city radical materializes unannounced on your rural commune. Both of you are amazed… too weird! People once directed me to the sleeping bag of a kid in Big Sur because they were convinced I was him. I wasn’t, but the kid sure did look like me. Strange!

Over time, the thrill of coincidence can diminish, diluted by the science of causality. The mystery of convergence can dissolve in the growing complexities of life. But this week, right here on Retrospect, I let myself be amazed once again by coincidence and convergence. I had to.

I haven’t been able to visit Retrospect for several weeks. My life had shifted into overdrive again. I’m not talking about murder or mayhem, just the demands of work, an upcoming university strike, projects gone awry, the usual, but — most significantly — since the middle of February we have been trying to save the life of one of our family members, Miles “Binky” Davis, a 25-pound orange tabby cat.

Even with the best of care, we could not pinpoint Miles’ malady or find a cure as his breathing became more labored. Always serene, he slowed but continued to love and be loved. He worked harder to breathe. An x-ray revealed a collapsed lung.

Our vets worked hard, testing tactics. Everybody loved Miles. They wanted him to live as much as we did but… WTF? We juggled faith and science. We extracted fluids, his lung inflated, he began to breathe easier. We put him on steroids and the vets interpreted lab reports. No virus, no cancers. We watched, tested, counted pulses. Daily, momentarily, we gingerly analyzed whether his godlike love of life continued to overcome his difficulties.

At home he rested in the comfort and splendor of his kingdom. Again, he began to fight for breath. We took Miles back to our collaborators, LA’s best animal emergency specialists but Miles gave us the sign… enough. Holding him on our laps, we said goodbye, watched his great spirit quietly disappear in the strife of the clinic’s emergency room. By that time, even the vet was crying.

We gave over this cornerstone of our household to a gentle group of doctors and technicians and floated home through rush-hour traffic.

That night, grieving, I wrote a eulogy to Miles, but — with the battle over — the flu that I had held at bay for a week roared over me like a Malibu breaker. When I surfaced this Monday, I made it through the first lecture and was taking a break when I visited Retrospect for the first time in weeks and discovered the current prompt — Pets. Convergence, coincidence, cause or effect? Who knows?

I don’t know if Miles “Binky” Davis was a pet. I know he was a great physical and spiritual presence in our home and the serene leader of our domestic animal kingdom. Anyway, here’s what I wrote about Miles the night he died, while I drifted in the strange convergence of grief, shock, and illness.

The Young Miles Davis

Miles “Binky” Davis passed away on Wednesday, March 23, 2016. Thirteen brief years earlier, Miles began his life as a foundling bundle of orange and white fur, no larger than a baby chick. Five  years later, he weighed 25 pounds and was, according to his veterinarian, “built like a linebacker.”

Physical size, although it characterized the noble orange cat, was the least of his accomplishments. By the age of six, Davis had developed an affinity for the trumpet, doubtless inspired by his namesake, the innovative jazz performer and composer.

In order to pursue his musical dream, Miles developed a trumpet valve system that did not require opposable thumbs and a special mouthpiece to accommodate the unique demands of feline armbiture. Davis spent most of his career playing with the Parisian-style cabaret band, the Tilibese Quartet.

In accordance with his serene spirit, Binky effortlessly assumed the heavy responsibility of Wuwu of the Duchy of Beachwood Terrace with grace and aplomb. A master of delegation, Miles placed most of his trust in his Chancellor of the Exchequer and the humans who cohabited the feline-driven Terrace de Bois sur la Plage. Virtually every human who met Miles as Wuwu willingly served him and the kingdom with great respect and devotion.

Miles’ sylfan lover and musical partner, the Siamese beauty Louise Tilibese, served both as singer-songwriter in the Tilibese Quartet and as his most trusted political adviser. It has often been considered remarkable that Miles “Binky” Davis enjoyed such notable success as both musician and secular leader, given his great proclivity for and profound dedication to sleep.

Lest we forget, Binky Davis also provided invaluable editorial assistance to the writers in the Duchy and his presence practically guaranteed literary flow and profundity.

Miles “Binky” Davis will long be cherished for his great power, spirit, and diverse talents.

#  #  #

Saying goodbye to a furry friend is never easy, even if you've only known him for a few days.
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I can relate completely to the tenuous existence of goldfish as pets to young boys.

My first foray into owning goldfish started well enough, with a large bowl, fresh water, some decorations, and a fresh container of fish food. For the first few days, everything went, well, swimmingly. Finally, though the time came to clean the fishbowl.

Some friends, who had successfully had goldfish for years, had given us the following process for cleaning the fishbowl. (To this day, I don’t know if this is a good procedure or not, but it had worked for them):

1. fill a bathtub a few inches with water as close to the fishbowl temperature as you can get it (that is, use a TINY bit of warm water to get the water closer to the room-temperature water in the bowl)
2. put the fishbowl into the tub to get the bowl temperature to match the tub temperature (wait, say, 10-15 minutes for the temperatures to match)
3. net the goldfish into the tub water
4. empty the bowl carefully (so as not to lose the decorations, which should be rinsed with fresh water),
5. clean the bowl
6. rinse the bowl THOROUGHLY
7. replace the decorations and fill the bowl with fresh water
8. put the bowl back into the tub water to bring the temperature of the fresh water close the the tub water
9. net the fish back into the bowl, remove the bowl from the tub, dry it off, and restore to its position of prominence somewhere in the house.

Armed with our instructions, we eagerly got through steps 1-7, but coming back to the tub with the fishbowl we found the goldfish floating belly up, quite dead.

What could have done this! Surely the water temperature hadn’t been that far off! We felt the water, and it wasn’t hot or cold, it seemed fine! Oh, no, had we gotten some very frail fish with a heart condition that were just not up to the excitement of being taken out of their new home so suddenly?

That was when one of us noticed that the fish had a companion in the tub with them: the bar of Zest soap had fallen from it’s spot at the edge of the tub into the water.  Thus, already sad and guilt-ridden over the death of our new pets, we were further traumatized by knowing that—not only had we killed our fish through negligence—we had done the equivalent of sentencing the poor things to a painful death by gas chamber.

We didn’t try goldfish again. Ever.

Prospective lizard owners take note, you also become cricket ranchers.
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Camping was fun when I was a kid. Fire was exciting and extinguished too soon.
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My childhood pets included dogs, a pair of gold fish a free-range parakeet and a friendly chicken.  Unfortunately, all of whom – or which – met tragic ends.

The gold fish story first, as it is the first pet I remember.  There were 2 of them living in a little round globe.  My brother and I dutifully and responsibly took care of them which, since we were both under 5, meant we fed them once in a while, leaving the rest to my mother.

On a cold winter morning one of them was found, floating belly up, awaiting transport to the bathroom for burial by toilet.  My dad carefully analyzed the situation and determined “Goldie” had died because the water had gotten too cold overnight.  To remedy that life-threatening situation he poured some warm water into the bowl.  In a few minutes Goldies’ partner in life was also awaiting burial at sea.

Next, to the dogs in my life; and no, I am not referring to old girlfriends or bad relatives.  We had several dogs over time all of them strays or puppies obtained from various sources.  There were big ones and small ones in all colors and mixes of breeds. The only thing they all had in common is that there came a day when we’d ask where Fido or Spot was and learned they had wandered onto the busy two lane road we lived on and were now in that Big Dog Kennel in the Sky.

We also had a very unique parakeet.  It could of course, talk but it was so domesticated we never had to put it in a cage.  It had free range of the house, living on a parakeet playground my dad had made.  One morning “Tweety” was gone.  If I remember right, it was on a morning just after we’d gotten the only cat we ever had as a pet.

The chicken is last.  We had a few, one of which we raised from a chick, so it was very tame.  It would perch on the window sill outside our kitchen where our family ate our meals.  Yes, Mrs. Cleaver, it was long ago when people still did that.  This chicken watched us eat nearly every meal.  One Sunday afternoon, while eating a chicken dinner…Well, I don’t need to go further if you can imagine the look on my fathers’ face when we kids wondered aloud where “Mrs. Henny Penny” might be.

Those childhood traumas probably contributed to my lack of desire to have a pet until after Patty and I got married.  I’d gone back to college and had morning classes.  She worked swing shift, so we saw little of each other except on days off so we decided to get a dog for company.  At the local pound a black and brown Terrier/Dachshund mix picked us as we walked by the cages.  We took her home and named her Sophie, after Sophie Tucker.

Sophie quickly wormed her way into our hearts.  She never ceased to impress us.  She could climb trees so I once had to retrieve her from the hollow limb of a dead tree hanging over the river.  If you pointed at the ground and told her to dig, she would, and not stop until we called her off, periodically lifting a dirt-covered face to see if we were satisfied.

She loved to roam free and brought us her found treasures such as a dead bird, once someone’s thawing turkey breast and, more than once, the sack lunch of some workman.  When we went canoeing she stood in the bow watching everything.  If she needed to use the facilities, she’d swim to shore then back to the canoe.  Whenever we put on jogging shoes she had fits knowing a run was in the works.

She did have some foibles.  When running off for an adventure, she wouldn’t look both ways when crossing the street.  Her spot in our VW Bug was standing on the back seat with her front paws on our seats so she could look between us and help drive.  One night, as we stuck her head between us, she was smacking her lips.  To say her breath was foul understates the stink of the cat poop she was eating.  That night she took a trip over the back fence instead of with us.

She loved to get out on garbage day to explore.  On one such day she ate something that poisoned her and she passed on despite our vets best efforts.  We tried to replace her with a Dachshund puppy a few years later.  But Heidi, while loveable and easy going, learned few tricks, had no special talents so was no Sophie!  Eventually, Heidi had a stroke and we had to put her down.  We’ve had no pets since.

I’m sure there are other lessons to be learned from losing all these pets, but the most important one for me is, I don’t dare use “My Pet” as an endearing nickname for my wife!

Faith takes the form of Easter hats, nursing uniforms, Bach and carrot soup.
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