A Toast to Lucky

How to commemorate the passing of my neighbor's striped orange tabby cat, who used to saunter over to catch rays by the pool or bring over a dead rodent when in a giving mood? Either something dark and brooding, opaque as I imagine the waters of the river Styx to be or something wholly ordinary, as I believe death to be merely a transition. We agree to it——are hostage to it some would say——the moment we are born. So, it is utterly natural, nothing special.

Flavors of the tea pass over your tastebuds and are then but a memory (okay, so the 回甘 of good teas will linger pleasantly in your mouth but still, won't last forever). Old and rare teas diminish in supply with each brewing. One day, the treasured ceramic jar it once sat in will be emptea. And that's just how this world is. So long, Lucky.