Pavane Pour Un Chat Defunt.
Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today to remember a cat that lived for a very long time with a human much cooler and more forgiving than the one I got stuck with. The Cat Called Mulligan Roscoe walked the slopes of Pittsburgh (and, for a brief time, of northern California) for nearly twenty earth years before yielding to the call of the mothership just last week. Since nobody ever frigging lets me out of the house and now I live very far away, I never met Mister Roscoe, or his human, or his partner-in-crime, The One Called Sweet Pea Roscoe, who apparently is almost as fat as I am. But T.O.C.E. lived with them for two summers, long before I was born, and I do believe the experience led her to get a cat, which is what saved me from an eternity in the three-legged-kitty slammer. So for that, I remember him-- sip for me, sip for my homey.
Sometimes, on these cold prairie nights when I am feeling exeptionally tolerant (or too week to care), T.O.C.E. will yank me onto her lap and hold me still while she tells Stories About Amazing Cats. One of the best stories is that of Mulligan, who, at age sixteen, sat on his porch while a very young tomcat strutted his stuff, moving closer and closer, lifting his leg, eventually coming a few feet from the porch steps. Mulligan, skinny and old, did nothing more but growl as the cat got closer. For some reason, however, said young cat backed off and walked away. So Mulligan left his post, too. Shortly after that, the tomcat returned, made a beeline for the porch and, out of nowhere, a Mulligan striped streak flew onto the Tomcat, knocking him over, running him down the porch steps and off to the end of the block-- all in one fell swoop. It was like Frank Sinatra kicking the shit out of Justin Timberlake. Then he resumed his porch perch like whaddyamean.
That is, to quote The One Called Brian Setzer, cat class AND cat style. Way to play it, Mulligan. You made our species proud.
(You also apparently had very nice white paws. Four of them. Traditional, I know, but still impressive).
Sometimes, on these cold prairie nights when I am feeling exeptionally tolerant (or too week to care), T.O.C.E. will yank me onto her lap and hold me still while she tells Stories About Amazing Cats. One of the best stories is that of Mulligan, who, at age sixteen, sat on his porch while a very young tomcat strutted his stuff, moving closer and closer, lifting his leg, eventually coming a few feet from the porch steps. Mulligan, skinny and old, did nothing more but growl as the cat got closer. For some reason, however, said young cat backed off and walked away. So Mulligan left his post, too. Shortly after that, the tomcat returned, made a beeline for the porch and, out of nowhere, a Mulligan striped streak flew onto the Tomcat, knocking him over, running him down the porch steps and off to the end of the block-- all in one fell swoop. It was like Frank Sinatra kicking the shit out of Justin Timberlake. Then he resumed his porch perch like whaddyamean.
That is, to quote The One Called Brian Setzer, cat class AND cat style. Way to play it, Mulligan. You made our species proud.
(You also apparently had very nice white paws. Four of them. Traditional, I know, but still impressive).
posted by Charlene at 8:09 PM
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