Eulogy for a Hate-Filled Cat

Posted Posted in animals

Gypsy and her Brother Wrestle on an Ugly Comforter

Gypsy Rose Jones, a half-Siamese black and white shorthair, passed away peacefully in her sleep last night, December 4th.  She was seventeen years old.  She is survived by no-one in her immediate family.

Family History

She survived all of her siblings by ten years.  She was given to me for Christmas in 1993, and was named during a New Year’s Day acid trip in 1994, when we determined that the next image on a television would determine her name.  Gypsy Rose Lee came up, but she could have just as easily been named Morley Safer.  Many people ask how she stayed alive so many years, staying kitten-small and kitten-cute for her whole life.  The answer is that  she was kept alive through the twin furnaces of kibble and hatred. 

If you ever met her, you already know that she hated you with the white-hot passion of a thousand suns.  Perhaps you also bear a whisker-thin white scar where she attacked you while you stroked her glossy black coat.  She also hated and feared her roommate Cosey, whom she lived with for 10 years and who never touched her, but whom she detested to her last moments.

Words To The Wise

Any interaction Gypsy had with a new person was begun with my advisory motto: “Ears go back means I’ll attack.”   My friends used to say things like “Well, you can’t tell what kind of abuse she went through before you adopted her.”  The sad truth is, she came to me straight from her litter.  She only ever knew me.  Anything that’s wrong with her is my fault.   I don’t know what I did, I mean, I used to make her jump through a hoop for POUNCE brand moist cat treats.  Maybe that’s enough.  

I know that she really hated riding cross-country from Texas to Oregon in the back of a Nissan, where even though she was medicated, she meowed every minute for the whole drive.

  Meow.  Meow.  Meow.

  The meows only decreased slightly in intensity and volume when she had a snootful of kitty Valium, which is the same as human Valium, but I did not tell her that.  She already hated me by then.  She really hated her brother Biggles, a Boston Terrier whom she outlived by several months.  I think surviving Mr. Biggles was her ultimate revenge, unless it was dying with her eyes open, which was incredibly creepy.  I think the only things she liked were catnip, leftover Thanksgiving turkey, and sitting on top of the warm, smooth surface of the stereo receiver.  Fare thee well, Gypsy.

Rabid for Rabbits

Posted Posted in animals, artsy fartsy, comedy, portland
I was trolling for myself on PIPL, which is THE place to find out if your blind date has a history of sex offenses, and found, lurking on the internet, a ten year old treatise on rabbit-hating. I really think it’s just as true today.12.30.99

Rabbits are Bad: A Poem By Melissa Favara

Dear Miss Favara;

I am a representative of a group called H.A.R.E., Hate A Rabbit Evokation. Our group tries to educate the public: rabbit references in literature, art, and film are undesirable in the extreme. Far from their cleverly honed public image as cute, silent, harmless animals, egg-gifting, carrot-nibbling cuties, rabbits are in fact fearsome, tusked and armored beasts that roam the midwestern plains in search of toddlers to eat. Your poem’s assertion that you should talk to them represents a public health and safety hazard . However, I find that I still liked the poem, once I had thoroughly exised the word “rabbit” with liquid paper. Unfortunately, I can barely see anything on my monitor these days. Oh, will this be displayed on the Internet? Oh, Rabbits.

Duck, Duck, Annihilation

Posted Posted in animals, comedy, Gothic


Well, it’s not the first time a duck designed for suicide has made its way around the internet.

Well, maybe it is. It does remind me of one of my friend John Freeman’s dozens of bands, Duck, Duck, Annihilation- see a loving write-up of the Freeman phenomenon on Direct Hit Records, here.

As to complaints that the duck is too well-built to actually electrocute, (this is one product that never considered hiring a customer service staff) please consider either of the two easy backup options, given that you could hang yourself with the cord OR in dire straits, eat the duck, which if you are any kind of celebrity or known entity will result in a six month period where the phrase ‘eat a duck’ will be hipster shorthand for any suicide, which will confuse the heck out of people in food sales.

Eventually, it will end up in Cockney rhyming slang as a euphemism for sexual intercourse, which everything is.

DJ Chico Jones

Posted Posted in animals, dance, music, portland

Chico has amassed a fair collection of deep house and EBM CD’s, and he’s got them all loaded on his laptop, and he’s got five or ten Detroit white label records, and he’s ready to offer his services as a DJ and party-maker. He requires a child’s highchair and a small bowl of water to perform. He has always been able to bite beats and to scratch. He is very interested in meeting attractive bitches. He is still available for New Year’s Eve. He would like to perform at Burning Man next September.

Before you judge me, remember that Portland winters are long, rainy, and grey, and sometimes they make you wonder to yourself, “What if my dog was a rave DJ?”

Sleevedog!

Posted Posted in animals, art, comedy, goth, music

Here is my addition to the Sleeveface project on Flickr- Hazel has always loved the Damned, and is part pig anyway. For those unfamiliar, this is a project where people pose with vinyl record sleeves in a way that completes the image.
If you haven’t seen the rest of the Sleeveface pool, it’s pretty incredible. Look here!

The Weirdest Argument I Have Ever Had

Posted Posted in animals, vegan


I had an all-day meeting at my soulless corporate job, and it was determined that we only needed a fifteen minute break for lunch, since it was catered. We have a great food service at work, and the cafeteria always has delicious vegan options, and I was dismayed to find that the meeting I had my choice of sammiches: turkey, chicken, and salmon.

I ran out to grab some food, an said sweetly to the organizer, it would have been nice to get a vegetarian option up in this piece, and she said, oh, you’re vegetarian? You can eat the fish. I have a lot of vegetarian friends, and they all eat fish.
Thank you for telling me that. I have only been vegetarian for TWENTY MOTHERF*CKING YEARS, vegan for six, and I am so INTERESTED to know that I can eat fish.
But really, it’s my fault. People used to give me the “I’m vegetarian, but I still eat fish” crap, and after repeated ridiculous conversations, black eyes, and hurt feelings, I gave up arguing. I gave up, and through years of misuse, the word has lost its original meaning and understood implication, which is that you don’t eat animals.