I was alone on a Thursday night, my usual weekly call night at the hospital. My kids were under their dad's care in case I was called in the middle of the night. It was early evening and I was resting in bed for the inevitable phone call, summoning me to the hospital. My eyes were shut, yet I felt the presence of someone.
"MR TAIL IS DEAD!!"
My saddened ten year old son was standing in my bedroom doorway. His father had brought him and his younger sister home to tell me and, to grab something they needed for school the next day.
Yes; Mr Tail was dead. Their father's beloved cat had ran into a busy street and, well...one of his nine lives was over. In my children's grief, they followed the ritual which my son had learned about from Ancient Egyptian's mourning. They each shaved their left eyebrow off; much like a widow would wear black.
This piece is for the fishing people I know. But, if Wishes were Fishes, I would bring back Mr Tail.