But the spirit of Mooncats shall live on, like the smell of mushroom soup wafting out from the kitchen, or the intoxicating taste of a cupcake that lingers on the palate for a lifetime.
And as Crowfoot imparted on the subject of life --
“What is life? It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is as the little shadow that runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset."
And so I choose to believe that we have neither heard nor tasted the last of the spirit of Mooncats, for it resonates within me like the echo of a ghostly dream.