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.

Someone’s In The Attic And It’s Not Gary Busey This Time

Several months ago, I awoke early one Saturday morning to find Paloma hanging out the living room window. Through my pre-coffee haze of grogginess, she explained that she had brought home a stray kitten and the feral creature had made a break for it – out the open window, onto the eave, and down a tree.

When the kitten returned the following morning, again in early morning hijinks, Paloma took it as a sign from the universe that the stray should be added to our menagerie. She looked to me for confirmation.

“I get to name her.” Thus, Pizza is now not only a delightful meal but the moniker of our smallest roommate.

Since her arrival, the fits of hyperactive, manic behavior by Pizza has inspired my completely non-sensical and totally unserious threat to box her up and FedEx her to Gary Busey.

I, for one, would not want to be under the supervision and authority (or even in close proximity) to Gary Busey. He seems to be just a bit too zany in 3D for my personal taste or piece of mind.

Of course, the idea of the always calm, cool, and collected Busey opening a box containing a wild, stray kitten that had been shipped cross country has incredible potential for comedic value. I picture it as some demented cartoon from the ’50s come to life.

My thoughts turned to Mr. Busey this morning as I read the news and an article about a family in Pennsylvania. Some hobo-type had lived in their attic for several days before they discovered him.

The tale mirrored the plot of one of Busey’s films brought to life – a little flick which I had the pleasure of watching called Hider In The House. His performance in the title role was something to behold. I truly believed that somewhere Gary Busey had been living some family’s attic, eating their porridge and stuff.

I suppose that it you had to choose between a total stranger and Gary Busey to be hiding in your attic, taking your chances with the stranger might be the smart move.

And as I read the news story, I wondered the same thing I did years ago when I saw Hider In The House – is it logistically possible that a psychopathic stranger (or Gary Busey) could live, undetected, in our attic for any length of time?

I have no “attic” songs, so here are a few songs by other Garys that may or may not be living in someone’s attic.

Gary Myrick & Havana 3AM – Havana
I knew Gary Myrick from a couple of songs on the soundtrack to the ’80s classic Valley Girl and, about ten years ago, I received a promo copy of his album Texas Glitter & Tombstone Tales. It was a pleasant surprise. Hardly the New Wave-tinged rock of the stuff I knew, it was more rockabilly inflected (although Havana has a more laid-back, Southwestern cantina vibe to it).

Gary Numan – Cars
Paloma and I recently snagged a couple of Gary Numan albums on vinyl, but Cars is an iconic track from the ’80s that still sounds spectacular nearly thirty years later.

Gary Wright – Love Is Alive
Wayne’s World or no Wayne’s World, I never was very taken with Dreamweaver. I much prefer the other two songs I know by Gary Wright, Really Wanna Know You and this one.

Gary “U.S.” Bonds – This Little Girl
I know that Gary Bonds had a run of hits in the ’60s, but I couldn’t name one or necessarily know one if I heard it. However, This Little Girl was constantly on the radio in the autumn of 1981 and its a fantastic pop song. I suppose it didn’t hurt that Bruce Springsteen wrote, produced, and appears on it.

Beatle John And Coke

(this entry is a repost from Monday – sans links)

There are a lot of music fans today recalling and recounting the details of their lives when they learned that John Lennon had been murdered. I was at the dentist.

December 8, 1980 was a Monday and a lot of folks had the tragic news broken to them by announcer Howard Cosell on Monday Night Football. For whatever reason, I’d already gone to bed before the announcement.

I slept in the next morning, so I didn’t catch the footage of throngs of mourning fans outside The Dakota on Good Morning America (to which the television would have been tuned as I ate breakfast before school). My mother didn’t mention it as she drove me to my dental appointment.

I learned of the death of one of the most iconic figures of the 20th Century from the radio station playing as I got my teeth cleaned. As strange as it seems to admit, as I was only beginning to care about music, the news had little effect on me. I was much more shocked and upset by the shooting of Lyman Bostock, an up-and-coming centerfielder for the California Angels, several years earlier.

It was also my thirteenth birthday.

As my interest in baseball waned and my interest in music became more obsessive, John Lennon’s death took on increasing significance.

On December 8, 1990, the world was headed to war in the Persian Gulf. MTV had been heavily playing the video for an update of Lennon’s Give Peace A Chance performed The Peach Choir, an array of artists including Iggy Pop, Duff from Guns ‘N Roses, Wendy & Lisa, LL Cool J, Lou Reed, and numerous others.

That night, walking home from the record store where I worked, I switched my Walkman from the cassette to which I was listening and channel surfed radio stations. There were big, fluffy clouds in the night sky, illuminated by the bright moon which poked through. It was one of those skies that you know to recognize in the Midwest as heavy with snow.

On the radio, the DJ on the station to which I had tuned was talking about it having been a decade since John Lennon’s death and playing songs of the late Beatle. It was the first time that I truly felt saddened by Lennon’s absence, now knowing more about the man and his music. He was now a friend.

I arrived back at my apartment and, as always in those days, the moment the door was unlocked, it was time to take my dog out. Whether coming from work or class (or both), it was always one of the best parts of the day.

Outside I walked about with Coke (it was a nickname that’s in no way affiliated with the drink or narcotics). Part German shepherd, part Golden Retriever, Coke loved water and he loved snow. Suddenly, massive flakes, the size of a small child’s fist, began to flutter from the night sky. Both of us looked up. Coke spent the next hour diving into snow banks and trying to dodge and/or catch the snow balls I lobbed his way.

I think that evening is my favorite memory of Coke simply because that we spent it playing in the snow.

I truly miss him.

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.