My Cat is Obsessed With…

Over the Christmas season, basic cable plays Star Wars & all the Harry Potter movies over & over & I am here for it. And my cat Sabu is here for it, too. He’d hop up on his ottoman & stare at the TV longer than I would, because I’ve seen them all 100 times & my phone requires my attention.

It’s my experience that cats, like all little boys & frat guys, love CGI. A dear kitty in my life many years ago, Katie, used to chase Discovery Channel’s CGI dinosaurs across the screen & behind the TV. Cats also really like R2D2. Baby Neil Cat sounded like him, & Sabu will approach the TV when R2 is on a rant.

So imagine my surprise to find that Sabu, after being put in his Pokeball backpack & taken to my mother’s house for Boxing Day, was utterly entranced by Indiana Jones & the Last Crusade. It’s not a CGI-heavy picture, as least not where we joined it, but he was watching with wrapt attention.

And that’s when it hit me. What’s the common denominator for the Star Wars, Harry Potter, and Indiana Jones franchises? They were all scored by John Williams.

My cat doesn’t like movies. He likes scores inspired by the work of Gustav Mahler!

As an experiment, I’ve been saying “Alexa, shuffle music by John Williams” before I leave the house every day for a week. And you know what Sabu has been doing?

Sleeping through the night. Not waking me up at 5 AM (except the one time he sneezed, poor dear). He’s been relatively cheerful and pleasant, which is saying a lot for that grumpy, fluffy, adorable jerk.

There may be something else at play, but I’m not taking my chances. My cat is going to listen to music from Jurassic Park and Schindler’s List & he’s going to cry all through the Luke & Leia Suite until it stops working.

I like sleeping.

I also do seriously burst into tears pretty much one measure into the Luke & Leia Suite. Here! See if you can stand it.

ostensibly angelic.

Ravie Slave, aka Fugue Satori, aka Michelle Floyd, died this weekend in Seattle 2:30 AM Saturday. She turned 30 this year. She was a burning inferno of existence & she treated language & musical notes like her little bitches. She played, danced, sang & laughed & bitched up a storm & I loved her. I don’t understand.

I can hear her in my head. This is a typical conversation between myself & her, either on the phone or Facebook, but she’s part of God’s house band now, assuming she hasn’t insisted on braiding feathers into His beard, so she’s talking to me a little differently.

She starts: “DOOOOOOD. You were right. This is so brill.”

“Are you adjusted yet, short thang?”

“I’m twirling. Twirling twirling. I’ve already pissed off a few people w/ the twirling & whatnot, but I can’t HELP MYSELF. DO YOU HEAR ME I’M TWIRLING & I HAVE NO PAIN. Oh, & my mom is here. We had a talk. She’s sorry. We then twirled together. That’s how it is, yo.”

“Nobody in Heaven is pissed. You’re imagining things, dawg.”

“Homie, you don’t even know. You said I’d try the patience of a saint and I DID. I straight up tried their patience. I was all up in that. It was tits.”

“It’s Heaven, so they wanted you to think they were angry. You’re such an Aries.”

“Takes one to know one, bitch mama. Hey, you remember the story I wrote when I was 18? It was called…”

“…yes, yes, ‘Would Jesus Fuck You?’ And?”

“Dude. He totally would not.”

“Well DUH.”

“I KNOW! I was 18. What do you want from me?”

“To know why you died. Why now? Why so soon?”

“Aww, Fire Mama, it’s not like that. You know that. You totes know that.”

“I know, Kitten.”

“Aww. So that one time when I went into your dream & beat you on the head?”

“Oy vey, yes.”


“Oh. Fantastic.”

“I won’t hit you this time. We’ll twirl.”

“That works for me, weirdo.”

“*tee hee*”

So yeah.

I miss her.