Reflections of a Platypus Man

We are greeted at our B&B in Geeveston, south-east Tasmania, by Glen, a jovial incomer from Queensland.  In deference to the Brisbane blood coursing through his veins he wears shorts, despite the chilly weather.  Involuntarily I shiver on his behalf.

Next to a log stove in Glen’s sitting room lies a cat, black and white and evidently content with his lot.  Julie bends down to fuss him, offers her hand.  He sniffs at it, then turns his head away disdainfully.

“He’s a man’s cat,” explains Glen apologetically.

If truth be told, I rather suspect that for the most part he’s his own cat.  It is the way with cats, I think.

We chat with Glen for a while.  He’s talkative and friendly.  Then he looks me in the eye and says “I hear from Susie that you’re a Platypus Man.”

I’ve been called many things in my life, though few of them are repeatable in polite company.  But never a Platypus Man.  I roll the words around in my mind, testing them out.  The description has a certain ring to it, sounding enigmatic, intriguing even, but in essence positive.  In fact it would work as an epitaph: “He was a singular human being, though in the nicest possible way a bit of an oddball.  I guess you could say he was a Platypus Man.”

There are worse ways to be remembered.

[11 November]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author: Platypus Man

"Platypus" is a red herring: I'm English, although my blogging career began in my record of a 2016 road trip to Tasmania. Other blogs followed covering road trips in Newfoundland (2017), the Yellowstone area of the USA (2018) and New Zealand (2019). My current project is "Now I'm 64" , a weekly blog covering UK travel and wildlife, along with bits of history, social commentary and moans about the injustice of aging. I can guarantee a few laughs, and also the occasional rant. Some of it's even quite well written!

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