By Bill Wilson
Upside-down apparitions, bloated gas-filled white bellies a few gelid inches beneath the living, nuzzling the solid surface above. The winter kill complete. Channel Cats. Ours for decades, large, whiskered creatures mimicking small sharks. A curiosity to neighbors and friends, children feeding pellets for splashed rewards of delight and wonder. We hope death was painless, spirits escaping a piscine crypt; death kissing their silvery skin, flesh, and bones.