3 cats and a crap

i am absolutely fascinated with mao and the cult of personality that still very much follows him today.

he is almost as big as the beatles. bigger than the beatles here in china though… wait now… yes he is… the only foreign superstar rock and roll icon that has any standing from that rock and roll 50's — 60's — 70's era, and that carries and clout here is the cat king. that would be elvis presley.

mao wang — different mao — this one means cat. which i found very funny when i first heard it. mao = cat, wang = king. the is also mao for hair.

(mao, your mao’s mao is in my mao. stop listening to mao wang and get me a mao brush)

so much am i fascinated as to go and call my first cat in ‘CAPTAIN MEOW’ — he wasn’t the full fledged CHAIRMAN MEOW, because he was just a youngster. he had some growing up to do before he earned that title. some britches to fill, some lessons to learn, some bridges to cross, and bridges to burn. he had to learn some character, develop a sense of self in order to learn the ways of others, to be able to interpret and change a desired outcome. he needed to hone his manipulation strategies, and start to believe in himself most of all, in order for that glory to be bestowed on him. more dead birds were required.

as far as i know he never made it to the level of chairman meow. little fucker took off one day. likely got squished. just as i was starting to warm to his assholish presence as well.

he was not the nicest of cats. scratching and biting the shit out of me all the time. and anything else he could. he was a street cat. it’s in their blood to be dicks. usually, not always of course, but usually.

now, is that ingrained, hereditary, because it is not your typical house cat. oh never mind. i answered my own question.

  • I was born on the streets, so that natural cat instinct immediately turned on. impossible to turn it off because i am living in a few rooms with a human. no matter how much tuna you serve me. i am still gonna want to hunt and kill and mame and tease. so therefore, you will be my target. but anyway, do you mind excusing me, i must sharpen the claws i am going to rip your toes up with, on this nice, new sofa —— sincerely, captain meow
  • ps… we are almost out of the wet cat food. i do not mind tuna for a few days really. in fact, i have grown quite fond of it. i never used to like new things. i guess since i have been with you, you have opened me up to a whole new world of new things. like being served food, and pooping indoors. and the belly rubs, oh man, those are, not to be too cliche’d here but, those are the cat’s meow. yeah. so tuna is good. but if you are getting that other crap i wouldn’t serve to a dog, then make sure it is in the green can, the blue is awful. bleeeecchhh…

i don’t know about cats. do i like them? i do not know. i like the idea of them. cute little furry things that make soft noises and cuddles and sleeps like a champion. but the realty is not anywhere near that on a per hour daily basis. fuck. i have never timed it in a survey or test, but.

how many hours a cat is:

asleep + awake and nice + awake and an asshole = 24

asleep — 20 hours + awake and nice — 15 minutes + awake and an asshole — 2 hours and 45 minutes. my math is horrible, so i hope that is twenty four. i don’t want to have to give more time to the cats being nice, and i would have to. felt a bit bias.

that is not a university study, do not quote me on that but, if you need i can find data, and if i can’t, i can invent some based on past experience and traumatic events.

i watched a cat die once. that was sad. it just sort of stopped writhing in pain, took in a big breathe, and then released it with a big sigh that was a bit panicked, then relaxed into a peaceful lump. the whole thing lasted hours, but that last gasp of breathe and sigh of release was over in 2 seconds. it did seem panicked though. like he knew it was the last. poor little thing.

it was hit by a car or something, and laid outside crying for a couple days. i looked and looked, but couldn’t find it. then my friend tracy found it. she had to work so i took it back to her place. all i could do was just wrap it up in a blanket and try to keep it warm. every once in a while it would gather enough energy to sort of crawl/walk around a bit. nothing major. then all of a sudden. it laid down and took it’s last breathe. shortly after that all his pee and poo just streamed out. everything just turned off and the muscles all relaxed and that was that.

that was a futile effort at rescuing a stray, but maybe that little cats last few hours were more peaceful than lying outside in the korean winter. it was freezing cold. all of korea was freezing cold in the winter. i noticed how cold korea was my very first day. i arrived in december, just after christmas. and it seemed to be cold from the very first day until the very last. like you walked into a land that never paid it’s heating bills. or got into a fight with it’s neighbour and was to stubborn to just turn the damn heat back on. that happened to me once. anyway, this cold in korea, it was not a normal cold. it was like … bah… it was cold.

i had to take the cat outside before tracy got home. she would have bawled and bawled and bawled all night if she had seen that. sensitive soul she is. i had no choice but to put it in a plastic bag. it was still leaking a bit.

and when i got downstairs and outside i was surrounded by concrete and other things my fragile human fingers could not dig or cut through. there were other feral cats all howling around me like they new and they new they shouldn’t but, fuck it’s cold in korea in the winter, and ya gotta eat. didn’t care it was ricky from down the block, they were hungry. fucking cannibals would have eaten him i am sure.

i had no choice but to take it down to the water and toss it in.

what is the difference. fish and crabs eating it or other cats. a lot i think.

I AM CRAP

that was on a t-shirt in korea. with a picture of a crab underneath, i am laughing right now thinking about that. i am crap.

dead cats, elvis and mao, all cats, all mysterious, and all dead. but they have a lasting impression. the cats are mine, but we all have our own dead cat and live cat story.

mao and elvis, everyone knows and remembers them in some way. even the most uneducated or socially sheltered will have some faint glimmer of a recollection when their names are mentioned on facebook or twitter. but why would they. they came too late for all that wonderful nonsense.

that will all change though. it will change for sure. many people, those who consider themselves musically inclined, do not know who kurt cobain is, or for that matter, oasis, let alone bob dylan. i have witnessed and been part of such conversations. ‘who’s kurt cobain?’ she said. ‘oh jesus’ i said. what, who is he she said. ‘nothing , no-one, come-on, let’s go home’. i said.

it is not that i am a nirvana fan, or a music retard, i am a bit but, it’s just that i was reminded of the age disparity between the two of us. i was old enough to be her dad. if you think about it. 14–15–16 — years difference. i guess. i never did see her i.d. she had a job anyway. i think. she went somewhere anyway. came back later. but i mean, kids have kids these days. plan to have kids. that’s fucked. why? i know why,

the socio=economic turn style has come around to the pie wedge that thinks it’s ‘ok’ to watch kids having kids get welfare or other such handout. i know all that crap, but why? why the fuck would a kid want to have a kid, why not just be a kid.

some people do not even know their own family history / tree.

that is a shame. not to now where you came from or who. there could be some real wing dings in their. mental patients, psychopaths, or something terrible like pointy toed business teachers.

adoption is not included in this little rant, but i know many adopted people who have found their natural birth parents or parent. some regretfully. others be-longingly.

our family tree has been done by some distant relatives of mine who live in vermont i guess. apparently we are related to some lord or something who is famous and had a big battle. it is not lord nelson, but that is what i tell people some times when i am stumped for the guys real name. like now. i am related to lord nelson.

no i am not, but there is some dude from british aristocracy or a military hero that shares my loins. or i share his. either way. them some sexy loins.

i am not in it though. i am not in the genealogy book so therefore, i do not exist. i am not here. i am not.

lasting impressions. yes. anyway, mao. he still carries a shit load of weight here in china. blasphemously so. meaning, depending on the particular person, or their particular mood, you may find yourself in a kettle of noodle water if his name is not mentioned in the right particular context.

‘but he made some mistakes’ they say. ‘he did good, but he made some mistakes, all leaders make mistakes’, they say. ‘indeed they do’ i say. ‘indeed they do’.

don’t get me wrong. i am not a mao hater. in fact as i mentioned it is quite the opposite. i am fascinated with the guy. i have read a few books, from all sides. he was an interesting fella.

bit of a joker maybe even.

when some american delegation was here in china many moons ago, he didn’t know how to say much at all in english. practically nothing.

hello, good bye, your mama, who’s your daddy, look at the yams on that, things like that. he didn’t know how to say — thank you and when someone told him, he couldn’t keep it in his memory to use it.

so he decided that he would just speak chinese. and use something that sounded similar and would pass if he slowed down or sped up his speaking tempo.

fan qie wei ni ma chi — which means — feed your mom tomatoes.or, at a stretch, how far the horse to eat.

but if you say it slowly.. faaan qie (chiiii) weieieie neeeee mmmaaaa chiiii … it sounds like thank you very much…

that mao… what a card. must of had them all busting a gut over that…

i am going to tell then americans… feed your mom tomatoes, but i will really mean how far the horse to eat… and they are going to think i am saying … thank you very much… what a hoot!

oh mao, oh mao stop, i, i, i can’t breathe, i can’t , stop, oh my stomach, oh, mao, oh my god. oh mao, you too funny, you so too much funny. oh my sides, they are splitting. oh my god, pheeww shiiit. that’s too much, mao you are so funny.

hey, hey, lin bao, hey

oh mao stop, oh please, come on be serious, come on, the americans will be here in a minute.

hey lin, hey

yeah mao, yeah,

i got your nose lin bao, i got your nose.

ooooohhhhh noo you…. oh he, you, he did, he didn’t oh… what a hoooot,

oh mao…

he should have went on the road as a member of a vaudeville show. travelling around china entertaining all the misery out of people. that way he would initiate social change, feed his fragile ego, and not have killed fucking so many people.

wooooomp waaaaaaaaaaamp.

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