Dispatches, thoughts, and miscellanea from writer Jon Konrath


Marie’s cat and my friend, Mungo, passed away yesterday. He had a rare heart disease, and his passing was sudden and a surprise to everyone. I loved him very much, and he was greatly loved by everyone who knew him as a unique, intelligent, and beautiful cat. I feel very sad about this loss, and my only comfort was that I was lucky enough to spend time with such a gifted animal.

I know it sounds really stupid for me to write something like this when I’m usually writing about execution-style murders of cashiers at McDonald’s or throwing live cattle out of helicopters or whatever. But even though it’s true that you are what you write, I think it’s also just as true that you aren’t what you write. And even though the carpetbombing of a country halfway around the globe hasn’t appeared to phase me in my writing, it is amazing that sixteen pounds of fur and feline can register more emotion in me than anything else. I feel very bad for Marie and her loss, and I feel bad in general.

There’s a page about Mungo here with some very good comments about his life and passing.