I like Puerto Vallarta so much because the visual feast that one sees everyday encourages my mind to take a more philosophic bent toward life.

Last week, for instance, I was meandering along the seaside malecon, which is a sort of a brick boardwalk, when I was drawn to the edge by the sound of small rocks being pushed back and forth by the constant surf, making a distinct rumbling noise that was far from unpleasant. I suddenly had a vision of these rocks, wandering the bottom of the ocean for two millennia or so and now having finally made it to shore where they can sun themselves forever.

At the same time a family of four came rollicking along the beach, all overweight and breathing heavily. The two children, holding potato chips and cokes, ran into the water, but only up to their ankles and screamed happily while their giant parents looked on proudly. Suddenly one of the wretched offspring stubbed his large toe on one of the exhausted rocks trying to make the last few yards to freedom. After shouting abuse at the poor stone, the frightful child picked up the innocent chunk and hurled it far out into the surf, no doubt condemning it to another thousand years underwater.

I reeled from this injustice; however if I took the philosophical point of view, what I had just witnessed was very much like life itself and therefore a lesson. Not sure what lesson, though, maybe watch out for fat families.
At the same time I cannot stop thinking of our cats, Pericles and Bertram. These cats have now reached, according to the estimate of our last dipsomaniac veterinarian, approximately 15 years of age. This would make them elderly felines. How long will they go on? The Bible tells us Abraham had a child at 100 years of age and lived till 175. Methuselah, the son of Enoch, lived until he was 969 for heaven’s sake. The cats, dare I say it, seem to be becoming stronger as the years go on. I refuse to pass away before them. It is not fair

I find it difficult to be calmly resigned about the cats, as it is extremely tough to separate the fearful smells of everyday life with them and the higher plain of a Socratic outlook. I cannot seem to put aside my utter dislike for them, but that should not make me a bad person.

The cats seem headed toward 20 or older, which is not fair, as one hears most weeks of terrible tragedies taking away the young and middle-aged, not to mention the expectant seniors. Why couldn’t something “sad” happen to the felines, as their time with us here on earth is more than up? But no. They snooze all day before walking to their overflowing bowls, where they eat happily, and then, after a few desultory stretches, return regally to their still warm beds. How will they ever pass to their reward doing that all day? Something must be done or I shall go mad.