OUR leaders have asked for “shared sacrifice.” But when they did the asking, they spared me. I checked with my mega-rich friends to learn what pain they were [...]]]> Can’t get much more plain truth than this, in the New York Times. Reproduced below in case the link goes dead.

OUR leaders have asked for “shared sacrifice.” But when they did the asking, they spared me. I checked with my mega-rich friends to learn what pain they were expecting. They, too, were left untouched.

While the poor and middle class fight for us in Afghanistan, and while most Americans struggle to make ends meet, we mega-rich continue to get our extraordinary tax breaks. Some of us are investment managers who earn billions from our daily labors but are allowed to classify our income as “carried interest,” thereby getting a bargain 15 percent tax rate. Others own stock index futures for 10 minutes and have 60 percent of their gain taxed at 15 percent, as if they’d been long-term investors.

These and other blessings are showered upon us by legislators in Washington who feel compelled to protect us, much as if we were spotted owls or some other endangered species. It’s nice to have friends in high places.

Last year my federal tax bill — the income tax I paid, as well as payroll taxes paid by me and on my behalf — was $6,938,744. That sounds like a lot of money. But what I paid was only 17.4 percent of my taxable income — and that’s actually a lower percentage than was paid by any of the other 20 people in our office. Their tax burdens ranged from 33 percent to 41 percent and averaged 36 percent.

If you make money with money, as some of my super-rich friends do, your percentage may be a bit lower than mine. But if you earn money from a job, your percentage will surely exceed mine — most likely by a lot.

To understand why, you need to examine the sources of government revenue. Last year about 80 percent of these revenues came from personal income taxes and payroll taxes. The mega-rich pay income taxes at a rate of 15 percent on most of their earnings but pay practically nothing in payroll taxes. It’s a different story for the middle class: typically, they fall into the 15 percent and 25 percent income tax brackets, and then are hit with heavy payroll taxes to boot.

Back in the 1980s and 1990s, tax rates for the rich were far higher, and my percentage rate was in the middle of the pack. According to a theory I sometimes hear, I should have thrown a fit and refused to invest because of the elevated tax rates on capital gains and dividends.

I didn’t refuse, nor did others. I have worked with investors for 60 years and I have yet to see anyone — not even when capital gains rates were 39.9 percent in 1976-77 — shy away from a sensible investment because of the tax rate on the potential gain. People invest to make money, and potential taxes have never scared them off. And to those who argue that higher rates hurt job creation, I would note that a net of nearly 40 million jobs were added between 1980 and 2000. You know what’s happened since then: lower tax rates and far lower job creation.

Since 1992, the I.R.S. has compiled data from the returns of the 400 Americans reporting the largest income. In 1992, the top 400 had aggregate taxable income of $16.9 billion and paid federal taxes of 29.2 percent on that sum. In 2008, the aggregate income of the highest 400 had soared to $90.9 billion — a staggering $227.4 million on average — but the rate paid had fallen to 21.5 percent.

The taxes I refer to here include only federal income tax, but you can be sure that any payroll tax for the 400 was inconsequential compared to income. In fact, 88 of the 400 in 2008 reported no wages at all, though every one of them reported capital gains. Some of my brethren may shun work but they all like to invest. (I can relate to that.)

I know well many of the mega-rich and, by and large, they are very decent people. They love America and appreciate the opportunity this country has given them. Many have joined the Giving Pledge, promising to give most of their wealth to philanthropy. Most wouldn’t mind being told to pay more in taxes as well, particularly when so many of their fellow citizens are truly suffering.

Twelve members of Congress will soon take on the crucial job of rearranging our country’s finances. They’ve been instructed to devise a plan that reduces the 10-year deficit by at least $1.5 trillion. It’s vital, however, that they achieve far more than that. Americans are rapidly losing faith in the ability of Congress to deal with our country’s fiscal problems. Only action that is immediate, real and very substantial will prevent that doubt from morphing into hopelessness. That feeling can create its own reality.

Job one for the 12 is to pare down some future promises that even a rich America can’t fulfill. Big money must be saved here. The 12 should then turn to the issue of revenues. I would leave rates for 99.7 percent of taxpayers unchanged and continue the current 2-percentage-point reduction in the employee contribution to the payroll tax. This cut helps the poor and the middle class, who need every break they can get.

But for those making more than $1 million — there were 236,883 such households in 2009 — I would raise rates immediately on taxable income in excess of $1 million, including, of course, dividends and capital gains. And for those who make $10 million or more — there were 8,274 in 2009 — I would suggest an additional increase in rate.

My friends and I have been coddled long enough by a billionaire-friendly Congress. It’s time for our government to get serious about shared sacrifice.

Warren E. Buffett is the chairman and chief executive of Berkshire Hathaway.

A version of this op-ed appeared in print on August 15, 2011, on page A21 of the New York edition with the headline: Stop Coddling the Super-Rich.

In approximately 18 hours, we will be saying good bye to our beloved, 13-year old Siamese, Bobo. We’re both full of emotion. Pedwar has had tears streaming more or less continuously, whether or not she was crying. I’ve gone from solid and philosophical to sobbing in less than the blink of [...]]]> September 20th, 2010 10:18PM

In approximately 18 hours, we will be saying good bye to our beloved, 13-year old Siamese, Bobo. We’re both full of emotion. Pedwar has had tears streaming more or less continuously, whether or not she was crying. I’ve gone from solid and philosophical to sobbing in less than the blink of an eye on several occasions. Neither of us can imagine our home without this lanky, 10-pound, good natured, and overwhelmingly affectionate cat.

It all started about a month and a half ago when pedwar noticed Bobo having a very hard time using his litterbox. His straining resulted in him vomiting up his breakfast so she took him to our vet at the Bytown Cat Hospital. The exam revealed that his colon was full of impacted fecal matter, hence the constipation. A few enemas and some sub-cutaneous fluids later, he was back home with a new diet and various medications aimed at softening things up and keeping things moving.  We were hopeful.  Unfortunately, hope wasn’t enough and poor Bobo found himself in the same painful situation two more times, each about 1.5 weeks apart. He has been diagnosed with megacolon, a condition where his colon is so stretched that it no longer contracts to move matter through his digestive system. The result is that his upper intestine dumps stuff into the colon, and it just sits there getting more and more compressed as new material comes in. No amount of straining on his part can move it out.

At this point, the options are few. We can have his colon removed — a pretty invasive procedure with a long and complex recovery, or we can bring him in for stressful and uncomfortable enemas (which are decreasing in effectiveness) every one to two weeks. Neither option is acceptable to us. Sure, we’d have our friend around, but it would hardly be fair to him given the stress involved in such visits. The only other alternative, the one we’ve reluctantly selected, is to have our vet euthanise Bobo. Not wanting this to happen at the vet, where the normally calm little guy is decidedly stressed, we asked our vet, Dr. MacDonald, to come to our home where Bobo can go to rest in his favourite chair, where he feels safe and loved, and she has agreed.

While we both understand the situation, it is so very hard to accept that this otherwise vital cat, full of curiosity and with so much warmth in his heart, has to die at what is a young age for his breed. We’ve both cried a lot tonight and I think there’s much more crying to do, but we’ve also done our best to enjoy this last night with our little miniature camel. He got his favourite treat for supper (BBQ sirloin steak), he played a game of fetch, and has been the target of liberal and unrestricted cuddling all night long. He has also been lounging on heating pads to keep him warm (he’s normally always chilled).

Tonight marks the beginning of the end of our lives with Bobo. It will be the last time he sleeps with us, something he has done every night for the 12 years he has been part of our family. It will be the last time he waits for us to settle down before jumping into bed and scratching at the covers between pedwar and I. It will be last time he moves between ped’s arms and mine over the course of the night, giving both of us the benefit of his rhythmic purring. He is ingrained in our lives, his name a part of our own private vocabulary.

September 21, 2010 11:06AM

I woke up this morning to find Bobo in Pedwar’s arms, I put my hand on him and he was purring away as he always does. I closed my eyes and went back to sleep… Later, he roused me with his traditional pawing of the covers and flopped down in my arms, head on my upper arm and purred us both back to sleep. Eventually, we all woke up, but just lay there. Trish told me how in the night, she had woken, to find him in her arms, his chin on her cheek…

He is now resting comfortably on a couple of warm heating pads with his last dose of pain killers. We’re trying to hold it together for him. He can tell we’re upset, and he has tried to comfort us several times.

Photos also available here, at higher data rates.

September 21, 2010 4:32PM

Bobo is gone…

He spent his last 45 minutes standing in the foyer with his toys, refusing to go very far from the front door, as if he knew what was coming.

He might be gone, but he will never, ever be forgotten. He brought us so much joy and happiness, so many memories that will always live in our hearts. Here are but a few…

The first time we met Bobo (he was known as Bojangles back then) was at his breeder’s home, where he lived in a large play area with his extended family. Before we got to the area, the breeder, Pauline Bratt, told us he was extremely friendly and curious. She wasn’t lying. As we rounded the corner into the room adjoining the play area, a little brown and beige head, topped with the biggest ears you could ever imagine, popped up in the observation window. You could see the look of “Oh, visitors!” on his face.

Bobo was fully clawed with what were pretty large and serious claws, but he thought they were strictly for use on his scratching post (and no one wanted to disabuse him of that belief). One night, we were doing some furniture rearranging and placed is post, which normally rests against a wall, in the middle of the floor. Spotting it there, he sauntered up to it and leaped on sinking every claw from every toe on every paw into the post. Now, the post’s base was designed to be stable when the cat using the post is standing on the base and when the post is against a wall. You can imagine what happened next. The post tipped over on to Bobsie, smacking him into the floor. He got up, shook it off, and walked away looking embarrassed and very suspicious of his post. We were in stitches. Right up until last night, Bobo gave his post a working over on his way up to bed.

The duvet cover episode took place in our apartment on Brittany Drive, where we lived for a little less than year. We were putting clean sheets on our bed, and pulled out a clean duvet cover. Bobo decided he wanted to climb inside the dirty one that was sitting on the floor. As he explored inside, his body formed a moving hump in the otherwise flat piece of fabric. Enter Mulder, who upon seeing the moving hump pounced on it. Not knowing what was happening and with his view blocked by the fabric, Bobo tried to jump away. The hump gained altitude quickly until the slack in the fabric, now anchored by Mulder’s mass, was taken-up. At that point he fell back to earth forming an new hump upon which Mulder would pounce. Repeat.

Bobo also had a special relationship with bags. He would find them and conjure-up a way to get the handles stuck around his neck, if not his neck and one paw. He would then run around thinking bag was chasing him or hobble about on three paws until one of us would see him and rescue him from himself. He did this as recently as four days ago.

During his short life, Bobsie was many things. He was an international cat show champion during kittenhood; an accomplished mouser; a skilled player of fetch-the-sproing; a trusting and loyal confidant who was always there when you needed him. Most essentially, however, Bobo was a friendly, loving, and gentle cat who tried to befriend everyone he met, both bi-ped and quadra-ped.

We were privileged to have him in our lives and honoured to have earned his trust and friendship. All we hope is that he understood how much he will always mean to us. I’m very thankful that Bobo was one of the only two pets I will ever have…

Bobo
Forever in our hearts
July 6, 1997 to September 21, 2010

Bobo’s various nicknames… Chameau (rhymes with Bobo), Bobo Sha-mo-mo, Shammer, Camel, Bobesie Brains, Bobes, Bobesie Wanna-Wanna, Shamrock, Shamrocker, Camel Brains, Stinker, The Bobo with the Big ‘Reilles, Sham-Sham, Baby-Sham, Baobab, Baobab Tree, Camel Face Chippendale, Miniature Camel, Bobi Wan Shamobi, Rocker, Irish Camel, Bobsie Face Chippendale, Bobo Buddy, Chameau for Brains, Li’l Honker.

Sun-drenched meezer

If you know me, you know that I’m jaded and cynical beyond my years and that I feel no compulsion to afford authority figures with a [...]]]> Despite being confined to the The Centre Sheraton in Montreal for a work-related conference, I was able to catch Barak Obama’s inauguration speech today and I’m glad I did.

If you know me, you know that I’m jaded and cynical beyond my years and that I feel no compulsion to afford authority figures with a higher level of respect than I would afford any member of John Q. Public. With that in mind, let me say that President Obama is the first person, politician or otherwise, that I would label a leader without having to cringe.

This is a momentus day, not only for the United States, but also for the world as this new President embodies a new, positive hope for future, and an end to the divisive, dogmatic liberal vs. conservative debate that has defined U.S. politics for so long.

One of my colleagues jokingly asked, “How does he remember the whole speech?”. I smiled in reply, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the apparent ease with which he delivers his speeches might be a reflection of the fact that he actually believes what he’s saying.

If only a man or woman of this calibre would step forward to lead our country….