Roadkill Cafe, Part 2

They knew me as Comrade Alexander Gerard. Actually, they pretty much called everyone, including each other, Comrade. That was probably one of the more interesting things I learned.

Anyway, I promised to tell you how I met Foxy. Well, I met Foxy much the same way I met Ribsy: on the side of the road. Foxy was probably more tragic, though, because he was more on the ride than on the side, and he was run over repeatedly, so that he was fairly well mashed up before long. And he lingered. I always figured someone came by to clean them up after a while, but I guess that's not true.

He lingered in other ways. It wasn't hard to see how clever he was, that Foxy, and he chattered more than Ribsy did, who was more the one to look on, the way he looked on at the road as cars drove by, slowly disintegrating. Together, even though they were separated as much in death as they had been in life, Ribsy and Foxy did a good job helping me form a more mature perspective. I never saw the road the same way again.

It was Foxy, more than Ribsy, who helped with that. It was darn ironic that he died where he did, because he hadn't frequented that particular area all that much before his death. Unlike Ribsy, he used to avoid humans, approaching crossings like the road with trepidation, hoping to skirt populated areas as much as possible.

But, in death, they met the same fate, the same way, the same place, and I met them in the same condition.

What else is there to say? Oh, I guess there's a reason why I remarked that they called each other Comrade, because I heard that a lot, from a lot more animals, mostly cats and dogs. Ribsy was there to point the way, but it was Foxy who chatted excitedly to me about the others. I ended up learning a lot.

I'll try and tell you some of it.