Poor guy. He's old, just trying to get something to eat, and he's pulled out of the water and manhandled. And now we're all shocked that he died.
Poor Giant Catfish.
I dedicate the words of one of my absolute favorite poems to his memory.
My Catfish Friend
by Robert Brautigan
If I were to live my life
in catfish forms
in scaffolds of skin and whiskers
at the bottom of a pond
and you were to come by one evening
when the moon was shining
down into my dark home
and stand there at the edge
of my affection
and think, "It's beautiful
here by this pond. I wish
somebody loved me,"
I'd love you and be your catfish
friend and drive such lonely
thoughts from your mind
and suddenly you would be at peace,
and ask yourself, "I wonder
if there are any catfish in this pond? It seems like
a perfect place for them."
Poor Giant Catfish.
I dedicate the words of one of my absolute favorite poems to his memory.
My Catfish Friend
by Robert Brautigan
If I were to live my life
in catfish forms
in scaffolds of skin and whiskers
at the bottom of a pond
and you were to come by one evening
when the moon was shining
down into my dark home
and stand there at the edge
of my affection
and think, "It's beautiful
here by this pond. I wish
somebody loved me,"
I'd love you and be your catfish
friend and drive such lonely
thoughts from your mind
and suddenly you would be at peace,
and ask yourself, "I wonder
if there are any catfish in this pond? It seems like
a perfect place for them."
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