Part of being alive and conscious, is struggling with the inevitable sorrow and loss from death.  Despite a short stint in my own life as a funeral director, I don’t deal with death well at all.  Particularly with animals.  I just love my pets.  Of them all, I’m a cat guy.  I love cats.  Especially elder cats that need a forever home.  Back in 2015, I was lucky enough to get chosen by a big 20 pounder named Willy.  He was 10 years old and the only family he ever known gave him up after getting a kitten and he didn’t like it.  I only had him just shy of two years when he had heart failure and had to be put to sleep.  I did not handle it well at ALL.  I can chuckle now a bit at it, but for two solid weeks, I just could not collect myself.  The spaces in the home he once prowled were so empty and sad.  In life, I’d see him at the food bowl everyday, and now - just the sharp hum of silence.  After two weeks, I decided to just check local human societies just to see what was out there. 

I googled into my phone ‘humane societies near me’ – and I noticed one only about 10 miles away I had never heard of called the Lucy Mackenzie Humane Society.  I clicked on the page – it was a new modern building that housed all types of animals, including horses.  I clicked on adoptable cats – and as the page came unblurred into a clear image, the picture above was staring at me.  A 12 year old male named Willie (different spelling) who was up for adoption because his owner had died.  What were the odds?  An elder tabby, suffering from loss as well, with the same name (but spelled Willie)?   I grabbed my keys and took off.  15 minutes later, I strolled through the door at Lucy Mackenzie, and was greeted with the customary ‘How can we help you?”  I told the woman I was interested in meeting Willie.  She was happy to hear that, as even though he was super social and friendly, his age frightened most people off.  She told me he was in the big cat room, where there was probably 15 or so cats in.  Some nestled in a tower tunnel, some in the corners, some eating….and when I walked in, there was Willie, sitting on a very high stoop of steps that were drilled into the wall.  He looked at me, I said 'Hi Willie', and he came right down.  He had the loudest purr I’ve ever heard, and he was craving pats, smashing his big head up against me.  I sat down Indian style and he made himself right at home in my lap.  Other cats that were also social came over to see what's up, and Willie slashed his paws at them to stay away.  We picked each other I guess. 
 
I had 8 great years with Willie.  He was so loyal to me.  Same routines every day.  Always at my side.  When laying down, was always leaned into my chest, chillin like a villain.  It was like the universe (in poetic parlance), threw both Willie and I a lifeline at a time of tremendous sadness.  Willie, like me, had lost his owner to death and found himself alone.  As I later learned, Willie had been through loss prior to this last owner having adopted him - and later passing away.  He was originally a barn cat, and his first owner took care of him until that person's life came to an end.  Willie ended up at the Lucy Mac Center, where his second owner adopted him, and for the next 5 or so years, he was taken care of very well.  But then that owner passed, and Willie found himself once again at Lucy Mac, after having to get trapped because he was too scared and timid to catch outdoors.  He looked to have gotten in a few scrapes, as he had a large scar on his mouth and missing his top right canine tooth. 
 
Willie died on March 12, 2025.  I had no choice but to have him put down.  He had some type of cancer, but at 20, I wasn’t about to have him poked and prodded.  The vet agreed.  Willie hung on for 6 solid months, lost mostly all of his 18 pounds of weight, but still purred and looked lovingly at me right to the very end.  I had 6 months to prepare for the inevitable, and that helped some, but the emptiness, the sheer darkness of losing this furry guy was just beyond my operating system to handle.  Cry cry cry cry cry.  

Nothing new there.  So many of us go through this same scenario.  But Willie really hit me different.  How can something so special just be…..gone?  This got me thinking – what really ARE the odds of meeting Willy (or anyone really).  Probably so low, you could say it impossible.  But this page isn't for me to stir doldrums.  So let's break the weight and brevity of a death talk and equate the odds of our existence.  

*NOTE* I had originally had an equation in here for figuring the odds of our existence.  I have since updated it with new ideas for factoring and can be seen a couple of posts up - Titled: Of All the Gin Joints; There's You.  It's literally mind-blowing odds.  

Lets just say it 1 in 1 with 100 billion zeroes behind it.  

If you’ve landed on this page, there is a better than average chance you were looking for insights from the late Professor Michael Ruse.  I was a friend in distance to him, having shared the same name, and – for the most part – the same longing for finding the unanswerable.  My quest, unlike his, is non- academic, in the sense that he made a living out of it.  He was an author, lecturer, and grounded to the fundamental insights that come with a man of his ‘stature’. 

Me?  I’m just here.  I’m a lot of different things.  I do what I do because I’m lost at times.  Wait, before I continue, let me ease any sense you might be getting that I’m going to present myself as a chaser of the mystic.  I do no such thing.  I search for meaning in just about everything.  For me.  Not for ego; not for a pat on the back.  You see, I have but one mission in this poetic and maddening life.  To find the answer that no one, not even the greatest minds on earth, has been able to answer.  The question (in short):  Is there existence after "life"?  So, in essence it seems - that since we don’t have any scientific proof at all beyond the dimming of our neurons, we pick our poison while here, and try to find solitude and calming in a world packed with chaos, discontent, as well as beauty and wonder.  If you’re a healthy person, your view of the beauty and the chaos will be starkly different than someone who is wrestling with the question if they are quite ill or riddled with challenges that distort what it is we chase.  But what I try to do here on this page, is share my often quirky thoughts, for I am obsessed with the question, as so many others on earth now and in the past, and well into the future are.  There are subsets to the question as well, which is the question of purpose.  Then of course there is the question of consciousness.  These questions are often left to the professionals to deal with in the form of clergy, philosophers and that of physicists.  All entirely different animals.  Religion is the path that many people tip-toe on to find the answer if you’re blessed with faith.  If you don’t have faith, then you don’t have ‘your’ answer.  Philosophy is much the same – great overthinking and based on a desire for positive outcome.  That is….what feels good to us.  I encourage it all.  For physicists, it’s all about the peer review, the PHD and canonical rigor in terms of facts - more specifically - math. If you’re missing any one of those key ingredients, then you’re just being metaphorical.  For me, since I have no desire to chase a PHD down, I try to answer the question with what their hard work has provided on my own terms.  You really don’t need a PHD to think and calculate.   

In any event – most of my insatiable appetite in finding an answer in any form, is fueled by loss and sorrow.  If you’re planning on clicking through this page, and are too on a similar quest or question loss and why we are here – something in here may resonate.