"Simon's gone." I hate emails that start like that, because it means a friend is no longer with us. Dusty has lost his wingcat. Hit by a car on the highway in front of our house. Wife and daughter saw his body on the way to school. I brought him back, wrapped in a t-shirt and we buried him in the fields out behind our home. He was our oldest and the most dignified of cats--never bullied, never shoved anybody out of the way for food. We rescued him from the pound in Newport News, huddled...