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I've been wanting to write, but either time or inspiration has been failing me. It's been pretty dramatic here, but first I said I'd say something about my cats. I could spin the stories out, but I don't know that I have the time or inspiration. Had I, I could give all these stories the attention they deserve.
Back in 2/84 I was a senior in college. On the side of the road one day I found a dog food bag with a litter of new born kittens in it. Apparently some asshole threw it out the window of a car. All the kittens were dead except one. I buried the dead and nurtured the living. When I say new born, I mean he was the size of a cigarette pack, basically bald, eyes still closed, a tiny mass of fleas, ticks and bones. I carried him around in my shirt pocket. It was warm and he could hear my heart, so why not. Poor bastard had only me to imprint on. No wonder he was so neurotic. Well, I didn't know what to name him. That night, cat in pocket, I was at the bar drowning my sorrows (my bf dumped me that morning). I still hadn't named the cat. Since I was drinking gin, I just named him Beefeater. That shorted to Beef, then he got older and attained cat attitude. (Ok. This next part is weird. Get over it.) He used to like sitting in my office chair at my desk at home and be wheeled around the apartment. He's sit upright and survey his realm or whatever goes through a cat's head. He'd bitch until I did it, so I did it. Anyway, one day soon after he'd attained cat attitude I was pushing him. When I stopped and asked if that was enough for the day. No response, so I called him by name (Beef) and he turned around and glared at me as if saying "That's MR. Beef to you!" Hence the name.
He died in '02 with liver failure. He was my companion of 18 years, nearly half my life at that point.
When he was 10 months old and I had graduated and started working so I couldn't take him everywhere with me anymore. He was sad and cried all day according to the neighbors. I decided to get him a companion. The evening that I had made that decision -- this is a totally bizarre coincidence -- I got a phone call from some woman I didn't know. She asked me if I'd like to adopt a cat. (She was from PETA and the local chapter had just broken into a vanful of cats that were bound for Carolina Biological Supply.) The cat in question was a 1 month old calico. The woman brought her right over.
She and Mr. Beef hated each other desperately. They fought all day according to the neighbors. Since all she did was scream and hiss, I named her Magnavox, which is Latin for 'loud voice'. That name shortened to Maggie. They eventually became inseparable.
She died in '01 with kidney failure. I buried her in the vineyard and planted a merlot vine on top. (Beef is down the hill in the woods. He got a pawpaw tree planted above him.) Maggie was the smallest cat I've ever known. She never got bigger than 6 lbs. She ate like a fuckin' hog. She's scarf down hers then chase Beef away and eat his. His weight maxed at 22 lbs. Go figger.
The next foundling to join my little family was tiny mangy Tarq (the border collie) in summer '95. Both cats decided they hated me and wouldn't be in the same room with me and/or the pup. Well, they would occasionally come out to stalk and terrorize the pup. He learned fear of them. A couple months later came pound pup Numa (the lab-husky mix). Then they began plotting my death. Eventually the dogs became protectors of the cats. 6 lb. Maggie and 100 lb. Numa became the closest of friends. What a pair. He was very sad when she died.
And next, the news...
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Have any comments you'd like to share?
[So far 0 smart ass remarks have been made.]
encroaching increase of darkness - 2008-11-02
Bones - 2008-09-20
random bitchings and musings - 2008-07-09
Man with Huge Cock - 2008-07-04
Eric and other crazy shit - 2008-06-29
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