‘ ‘ ‘  Don’™t walk under an open ladder- bad luck. Ringing bells ‘“ a new angel has received wings. Watching a spider weaving a web in the morning ‘“ you’™ll have a lucky day. Superstitions to me are like water drops on a duck’™s back.’  neither they nor the bunk they call astrology. Bunk, all bunk! That was yesterday. Today I’™m not that sure.
‘ ‘ ‘  Describing a good life in one word? Walter Ibenson the renowned philosopher and philanthropist said that such a word would be none other than ‘œhappy’. Whether crippled or whole, poor or rich it’™s the happy person who has a good life ‘“ a good arrangement of the person’™s genealogical’  make-up – I suppose.
‘ ‘ ‘  I happen to be one of the lucky ones. A lucky guy. I’™m one of those who sees the glass’  (or whisky bottle?)’  half full, the good in the bad,’  the candle in the dark.’  All this, that is, until a fortnight ago. Then the world turned a summersault and landed upside down. It was as if a sharp blow to my head had rearranged the formula. One instant the world was a bright and beautiful place, the next, dark and filled with foreboding that was sheer fantasy.
‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œThis sudden transformation I just can’™t explain,’ said doctor, psychologist, psychiatrist and guru.’  Then I met up with this guy in the bar I had begun to frequent. This out of sheer desperation to seek a reason and cure for this strange and so sudden change in my fortune. I suppose it was something in my expression that made him sidle up to me.’ 
‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œMan you look real depressed.’
‘ ‘ ‘  His opening remark made me take a close look afraid he may be just another con-man. At this point I had become afraid of my own shadow following me. ‘œWhat’™s it to you? You some philanthropist – do-gooder?’
‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œNo. Just afraid that an expression like yours at a bar is a sure sign of bad luck and I’™m one that has always lived by signs.. Now if I could brighten it up a bit that could change everything.’
‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œYou that superstitious?’ I asked feeling myself sinking even deeper into the rut.
‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œCall it that, if you like. But these things shape my life so I’™m very careful.’
‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œWell, I don’™t suppose you could do something? I tried doctors, lawyers and Indian chiefs you name it. I’™ve tried them all. This change to an otherwise happy man came to me like a storm out of a clear sky. Changed my life. No rhyme or reason,’ I concluded looking at him quizzically, a glimmer of hope dawning – perhaps an angel?’ 
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œI suppose you can recall what happened leading up to that special moment of change in your life?’ he asked at the same time glancing, a little fearfully I thought, into the long mirror behind the bar.
‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œOh yes,indeed,’ I replied with no hesitation.
‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œTell me. Be very precise ‘“ don’™t miss’  out on any detail.’
‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œWell, I was in a special hurry that morning, having a special project to present at my place of work.’  That day I had already opened the door’  before realizing that I hadn’™t glanced into the hall mirror. So, with the door open I returned to give myself the once over in the mirror. It’™s a habit I’™ve had for many years ‘“ nothing to do with me being superstitious or something. I walk to my place of work. Five minutes into my walk I felt this change come over me. That’™s it. That’™s all there is to it.’
‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œGo back to the mirror bit,’ said the stranger. ‘œI think you’™re missing out on something. Was there any other thing’  that was unusual, except for your image, of course? Every detail please.’
‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œStrangely, now that you mention it, yes. A strange cat’  was sitting on the doorstep. Never seen it before. Paid no special attention.’  Except for it, nothing different. The garden just as it always is – that’™s all.’
‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œBlack?’
‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œYes, why?’
‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œLook in the mirror in front of you. See anything?’
‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œSure. A Whiskey.’
‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œWhat’™s on the label?’
‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œBlack cat.’
‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œI don’™t see a black cat on the label. But that’™s ok. The cat’™s on the label and also reflected in the mirror?
‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œSure! What’™s this got to do with . . .’
‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œGood.’  Now spit. Don’™t take your eyes off the cat in the mirror.’
‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œSpit?’
‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œYes! Quickly!’
‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œWhere?’
‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œStraight ahead. Just spit!’
‘ ‘ ‘  In a haze of blank surprise and incredulity I spat.
‘ ‘ ‘  The bar tender’™s glare sent a jab of fear racing through me. I didn’™t care. I spat again, this time glaring at the cat in the mirror.
‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œGood! There! Now look again.’
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  I was prepared to swear blind that there had been a black cat on the whiskey label a moment ago. Now, instead, looking blandly back at me was the black Scotty so well known by lovers of Black and White. In the mirror now, true to the laws of physics, the white Scotty.
‘ ‘ ‘  Then another realization dawned. This was my feeling.’  Suddenly I realized that my old feeling of well being ‘“ the old me – had returned. The sparkle I knew so well; the lip’™s curve’  in a faint smile. Then I sought for the image of a stranger who had befriended me so well. It was not there!
‘ ‘ ‘  I turned quickly, apprehensively towards where he should have been’“ he had gone!