Stew Wobinski

 

I once knew a cat named Stewart Wobinski.  He was very familiar with the Vulcan mind-meld.  He had a dog and a human and lived in Washington, by the ocean.  He was very cat-like and spent much of his time watching the birds on the balcony.

I remember, when it was time for us to part company, he climbed into my suitcase, pretending to be a shirt.  Because he was shedding, the cat hair didn’t give him away, but I immediately noticed an absence of buttons.  His plan of escaping with me didn’t work.

I’ve never been back, but sometimes think of him closely watching the birds, becoming quite frustrated at the invention of sliding glass doors.  He could plainly see what was right in front of him, almost taste them, but nothing more.  I expect he dreams of someday having a suitcase of his own.