I wonder about you and curse you from time to time, you vagrant Hun. I expect to see you on every corner, lounging calmly, Zen-posture, cat-like, on every stairway. You didn't seem to understand Zen, or maybe you understood it perfectly. Cats, you liked them when drunk, and otherwise preferred dogs. Severing all attachments is one route to Nirvana, to the Pure Land, to union with all beings, but...it is damned rude to do to those you suddenly stop talking to, leaving them wondering what they did wrong, if they said the wrong thing, maybe they called you crazy--I remember how much you hated being called crazy, when, by all accounts, that is exactly what you are, bughouse nuts, my friend, bughouse nuts.