So Long, Little Friend

Like most people, I would prefer the days to unfold like the colorful pages of a Dr. Seuss book, populated by the playful antics of furry, non-existent creatures and lots of nonsensical rhyming.

OK, maybe that’s just me.

Unfortunately, there’s a lot of reality to real life and it’s not always easy or pleasant.

I’ve known Paloma for nearly twenty years and, for most of that time, I’ve known Coltrane. She had found Coltrane in a garbage dumpster, a tiny ball of black fur that someone had left for dead.

Coltrane had found someone who would give her a home.

I’ve stated before that I am a dog person, but when Paloma and I became a couple and, later, when we moved in together, I made an effort to embrace the felines that came with her.

I didn’t understand them.

They wouldn’t curl up and watch sports with me like my dog had. They certainly wouldn’t fetch. I had no idea what was on their minds.

‘trane was, perhaps, the most inscrutable to me. She was calm, contented, and a mystery. Buddhist monks would have envied her zen-like state. Sometimes she would give me a gentle head butt.

Though she was old, she was healthy. She moved at a leisurely pace, but she retained remarkable agility.

Over the past year or so, Paloma would, on occasion, comment that she was trying to emotionally prepare herself for the day when Coltrane’s long life would reach its conclusion. I dreaded the idea because I knew how hard that day would be for her.

Then, about six months or so ago, I was writing one evening. Paloma had gone to bed. Coltrane quietly ambled into the living room. I knew what she wanted and scooped her into my arms.

In the kitchen, I doled a portion of one of her favorites into her dish. As she ate, I filled a tumbler full of cold water from the fridge and took it back to the living room.

Several minutes later, ‘trane climbed onto the coffee table and drank from the glass of water. As I rubbed her head, it struck me that the two of us shared numerous daily rituals including this one.

It was that evening that I realized that somehow, perhaps when I wasn’t thinking about it, Coltrane and I had developed a bond. I also realized that the day that I had dreaded for Paloma was now one that I was dreading for myself as well.

Last Thursday, I arrived home to find Paloma tending to Coltrane. The small animal was struggling in her efforts to do the smallest of tasks, tasks that a day earlier she could do slowly but with little trouble or pain.

The spirit was still there – the abiding sweetness – but her small body was failing her.

On Friday morning, Paloma made the difficult but compassionate decision to let Coltrane go. She did so with no hesitation and knowing that it was the one, final act of kindness she could offer ‘trane.

And though it was hard, and though she’ll be missed, it was a peaceful end to a good, long life.

Mark Knopfler – Going Home (Theme Of The Local Hero)
from Local Hero soundtrack

I considered posting some music by Coltrane’s namesake, but one song kept coming into my head the past few days – the closing song from Dire Straits’ guitarist Mark Knopfler’s soundtrack to the movie Local Hero. Much like ‘trane, the movie is low-key, quirky and sweet with a charm that sneaks up on you and is hard to shake.

As for the song, there’s a touch of sadness, but that quickly gives way to a determined melody and concludes with an anthemic, almost joyous close that leaves you feeling that everything’s going to be alright.

Out Of Africa And Headed For Hollywood

I am a dog person.

I am a dog person sharing a home with a trio of cats.

There does seem to be much posturing between those who prefer canines and those who opt for felines, the two factions seeming to be only slightly less contentious than the Christian right and, well, everyone else.

Although I do prefer dogs, I have come to grow fond of the cats which Paloma has brought into my life.

I’ve often been inspired by television commercials to suggest that our cats might be able to get into that line of work. The animals jockeying for position on our couch seem to have as much personality as those shilling products.

The other night, I brought up the idea – again.

“I’ve heard the cats in commercials scheme,” Paloma assured me. She seemed mostly amused.

“We’ve got one on death’s door (she isn’t), one who’s overweight (she is) and one that’s a feral kitten (it’s true). And you want to put them on a set with a bunch of strangers and cameras and have them perform on command?”

Admittedly, her review of the plan, while accurate, made it seem slightly half-baked.

“Umm. Yes?” I replied.

On cue, Pizza, the kitten (see photo courtesy of Paloma), shot through the room in a blur of fur.

(Paloma brought her home as a stray and she is, literally, feral as we have discovered that she is a Savannah, a relatively new breed that is a cross between an African serval and a domesticated house cat)

Pizza’s mad dash ended abruptly in a collision with a chair. She flopped back on her haunches, blinked, turned, and darted off as quickly as she had arrived.

“So, are you going to have business cards printed that say ‘Cat Wrangler’?”

Maybe not quite yet.

Francis Dunnery – Everyone’s A Star
Some artists undeservedly slip from my radar, so it’s always welcome when something prompts a reminder. I’d kind of forgotten about Francis Dunnery until he was mentioned over at Fusion 45 recently.

I own two of Dunnery’s solo albums and both are well worth searching out. Everyone’s A Star comes from his debut, Fearless, which also includes Good Life, one of the most heartbreaking songs I think I’ve ever heard.

He also was a member of Robert Plant’s touring band and I got to catch him with Plant on the latter’s Fate Of Nations tour in ’93 or so.

James – She’s A Star
Another underappreciated act (at least here in the States), but James did find brief success with their song Laid.

She’s A Star comes from Whiplash, which was their first album after Laid was a hit. It failed to maintain their momentum even though they snagged a spot on Lollapalooza that summer.

Billy Joel – Say Goodbye To Hollywood
I’m strangely ambivalent about Billy Joel. If you asked me if I liked Billy Joel, I’d probably shrug and say something like, “He’s OK.”

But when I do hear one of his songs, I’m surprised at how often I pause, mentally list his songs in my head, and realize that the guy does have some truly fantastic tracks in his catalog. Say Goodbye To Hollywood is certainly (and always has been) one of my favorite songs (maybe the favorite) by him.

I never tire of hearing it.

Concrete Blonde – Still In Hollywood
I’ve realize that I’ve had the opportunity to see each of the acts in this post live. I’ve been quite fortunate that way.

I keep vowing to write about Concrete Blonde as the trio did produce some of my favorite music of the late ’80s/early ’90s. And as much as I adore Johnette as a frontwoman, I thought guitarist James Mankey never got as much love as he should have.

Chickenhead The Cat

I don’t understand cats. Actually, I think I do understand them which is why I am decidedly a dog person.

Not that I harbor malevolent intent toward felines. Paloma has two cats, Coltrane and Fat Sam, and I have come to be quite fond of both of them. I realize, though, that I could never have the same bond with a cat as I have had with dogs due to their blatant, almost brazen, indifference. They’re like an acquaintance whose body language says, “Yes, we’re interacting and – although I don’t dislike you – I don’t particularly like you and would not be the least bit disappointed if we never saw each other again.” I can get that anywhere. Why would I want it from someone I have to feed and clean up after?

I recall a time before Paloma and I lived together and she went out of town on business. I would make a daily visit to her apartment, making sure that the cats had food and water as well as spending a bit of time with them. Coltrane, especially, seemed inconsolable. I would find her own Paloma’s bed, crying, so I would pet her a bit and talk to her. For the next few days following Paloma’s return, my visits found both cats paying an unprecedented amount of attention to me. It didn’t last. They soon were ignoring me as always, leading me to suspect that their attention toward me was more a dig at Paloma for her absence rather than delight at my presence. Pretty dodgy, huh?

Then, there was Chickenhead. The windows to my apartment’s living room are easily reached by an overhang despite being on the second floor. One warm, summer night, I was sitting on the couch, writing, when a cat climbed through the open window, wandered about (indifferently) and left. This occurred several more times until one night when Paloma was there. She did the thing that I had purposely avoided – she put out a small saucer of milk. Realizing that he would now be a regular visitor, we named him Chickenhead – nicked from a Denis Leary bit involving the naming of a pet. Actually, I named him Chickenhead and Paloma kindly obliged me as the name made me laugh (I am, obviously, easily amused).

Chickenhead came around regularly for a few weeks, getting fed and receiving a bit of attention. Then, no more. And to prove my point about the indifference of cats, here it is a year later and I am writing about him while I know he’s out there somewhere with nary a thought of me.

The Cure – The Lovecats
This number is downright jaunty (particularly Robert Smith’s vocals which have an almost feline quality) – jaunty not being a description which I would have thought appropo to most of The Cure’s music. That is until I mentally went back over their catalog and realized, to my surprise, that they have more moments of jaunt than you might think.

David Bowie – Cat People (Putting Out Fire)
There are two versions of this song which I have. One appeared in the 1982 movie of the same name in which Nastassia Kinski frolics about murdering bunnies (OK. It’s only one rabbit of which she makes a meal); the other version appeared on Bowie’s 1983 commercial comeback album Let’s Dance. This one is from the former and has a nifty, smoldering intro and was produced, if I recall correctly, by Euro-disco-meister (say that three times fast) Giorgio Moroder.

Squeeze – Cool For Cats
Growing up in the hinterlands of the American Midwest in the years prior to MTV, it wasn’t easy to be exposed to new music and fringe acts. However, my friend Chris had an uncanny knack for turning me onto some of the most intriguing and beloved music of my formative years. Among his discoveries, he introduced me to The Cure with Pornography and the sprightly, New Wave-tinged pop of Squeeze with their compilation Singles 45 And Under. Good stuff.

Danielle Dax – Cat-House
I can’t recall how I found the music of Danielle Dax (most likely it was from watching MTV’s 120 Minutes one late night in college when I should have been studying). I believe most (all?) of her stuff is out of print now which is unfortunate because I know I lost a copy of her Blast The Human Flower disc (containing two favorites – The Id Parade and 16 Candles) when I loaned it out. As my Irish friend Liam would say, Cat-House is a corker. Well, if I had an Irish friend named Liam, I have no doubt that’s what he’d say.