The History of One Tough Motherfucker & Cat Cafés

Clarycat looking at leaf (she has a passion for them): not one tough motherfucker, but then she’s not had to be

If man could be crossed with the cat, it would improve man but deteriorate the cat. —Mark Twain

Dear friends and readers,

A particularly beautiful poem:

The History Of One Tough Motherfucker

he came to the door one night wet thin beaten and
terrorized
a white cross-eyed tailless cat
I took him in and fed him and he stayed
grew to trust me until a friend drove up the driveway
and ran him over
I took what was left to a vet who said,”not much
chance…give him these pills…his backbone
is crushed, but is was crushed before and somehow
mended, if he lives he’ll never walk, look at
these x-rays, he’s been shot, look here, the pellets
are still there … also, he once had a tail, somebody
cut it off … ”
I took the cat back, it was a hot summer, one of the
hottest in decades, I put him on the bathroom
floor, gave him water and pills, he wouldn’t eat, he
wouldn’t touch the water, I dipped my finger into it
and wet his mouth and I talked to him, I didn’t go any-
where, I put in a lot of bathroom time and talked to
him and gently touched him and he looked back at
me with those pale blue crossed eyes and as the days went
by he made his first move
dragging himself forward by his front legs
(the rear ones wouldn’t work)
he made it to the litter box
crawled over and in,
it was like the trumpet of possible victory
blowing in that bathroom and into the city, I
related to that cat — I’d had it bad, not that
bad but bad enough
one morning he got up, stood up, fell back down and
just looked at me.
“you can make it,” I said to him.
he kept trying, getting up falling down, finally
he walked a few steps, he was like a drunk, the
rear legs just didn’t want to do it and he fell again, rested,
then got up.
you know the rest: now he’s better than ever, cross-eyed
almost toothless, but the grace is back, and that look in
his eyes never left …
and now sometimes I’m interviewed, they want to hear about
life and literature and I get drunk and hold up my cross-eyed,
shot, runover de-tailed cat and I say,”look, look
at this!”
but they don’t understand, they say something like,”you
say you’ve been influenced by Celine?”
“no,” I hold the cat up, “by what happens, by
things like this, by this, by this!”
I shake the cat, hold him up in
the smoky and drunken light, he’s relaxed he knows…
it’s then that the interviews end
although I am proud sometimes when I see the pictures
later and there I am and there is the cat and we are photo-
graphed together.
he too knows it’s bullshit but that somehow it all helps.

**************

The Biblical allusion is probably to Joshua and his army bringing down the walls of Jericho by sounding ram’s horn trumpets and shouting. People blow trumpets to get others to pay attention, as signals of victory or defeat and when someone dies (the haunting Taps). The poet’s cat functions as a trumpet in our world. Our poet has had it bad, but not as bad as the (against people especially) helpless cat. This cat has been so mistreated he has had it worse (been treated worse) than Bukowski. But he survives. All the symbolism is of course bullshit but somehow it consoles to look out at others and let them see you enduring on together.

Charles Bukowski and his rescued friend-pussycat

On Bukowski and his tender affectionate nature, often obscured: “She is a joy. I look at her and light goes all through me.”

Charles Bukowski smoking

****************

Did you know there is such a thing as a cat cafe?

In areas where those who own and or control spaces one can buy or rent to live in will not allow pets these cafes have grown up as safe havens for cats, places people can come to play with and become friends with a particular cat, bring their own cats to stay. Such places serve coffee and tea. My friend put it this way: People come, by tea or coffee, caress the lonely cats and pay money to the owners for more support of more cats. The cats are said to be well-treated: kept clean and healthy.

Caroline tells me she has been trying to “jumpstart” one in DC for quite a time. A friend who lives in Torquay told me of a cat cafe in Totnes. I have been told of areas in the world where the people are so starved and miserable if you do have a well-fed and well-treated cat, you must protect the cat from these people. Such is the state of the world. A YouTube of Nekkoaigi, cat coffee cafe in Kyoto:

Miss Drake