Parking Garage Thievery & Meditations on Loss

I really hope the scuzzbags who somehow got into our building's "secure" parking garage to steal our doggie bike trailer and our neighbour's kiddie bike trailer and strip both bikes of all their accoutrements will step barefoot in a humongous pile of (literal or metaphorical) dog poop (preferably one that the scuzzbags themselves neglected to clean up). If the goddess Fortune could somehow arrange her wheel for that to happen, I'd be grateful.

A seagull crapping on their heads at the worst possible moment would also be fine.

Or a flood in the living room ...

A bedbug infestation of all their upholstery ...

Nah, Freddie ... we really don't want them to drown.

Though a hole in the hull might be nice.

 They could probably do with some meditation 

at the beachside multi-faith mellowness cabin.

Pre-Mass confession, if they're that way inclined ...

(Is that kid wondering how she's managing to walk on those heels? I am!) 

We had good times in our trailer, Freddie.

It was a great deal on Craigslist (no, the original vendor wasn't a thief), but Paul and I will be on the lookout for something just as good.

As for my handlebar grips, lights, and rear axle ... they'll need to be replaced tout de suite.

But you know what, Freddie? It's just material shit (I know you know that; I'm reminding myself). Those things can be replaced. They're not a capital-L Loss — like what our good friend Pierre is going through right now. A couple of days ago, he said goodbye to his beloved kitty, Elsa. (Yes, one day you and I will say goodbye, too — it happens to everyone — but I hope it won't happen for a very long time, so I try not to think about it yet.)

Here's Elsa.

May her memory purr on in a patch of eternal sunshine.