Sunday, January 10, 2010

Ballad Of Rodney the Cat

I was having tea with my felatrix Heather and my dominatricies Bambi and D’Amanda the other day. In between sips of chamomile tea and bites of biscotti, the conversation meandered lazily and comfortably from clown porn to auto repair, through politics and onto the subject of cats. Cats! I love the little furry fuckers.

I once had these three cats, Rodney, Mitchy and Gloria. I will now tell you a bit about them.

Rodney was a stout little fellow with markings that made him resemble a miniature cow. My band at the time did a song called “Cat on a Red Hot Hibachi” and had just recorded an EP of the same name. We needed a name and logo for our record label since real labels such as RCA or MCA decided, shockingly, to pass on pressing our masterpiece.

Bass player Scotty and I thought that the logo should have a picture of a cat on a Hibachi (not really hot, mind you). Enter Rodney. The little dude just would not cooperate until I had the brilliant idea to put a little tuna fish on the Hibachi. Thus was born our logo and the name of our record label – Rodney the Cat Records.

Rodney had the nickname “Sub Hunter” due to his propensity to steal half eaten subs out of the dumpster next to the store across the street. He would drag them over and chow down on them on our front porch. More than once I was tempted to join him in the feast.

One day Rodney didn’t return. Days then weeks went by and despite postering the whole neighborhood, Rodney was gone. One night I went downtown to a restaurant that served French cuisine. I happened to mention to the owner how distraught I was over my missing cat. When I described Rodney to her she mentioned that a stray cat of similar appearance had shown up to her restaurant about six weeks earlier. She took me to the cat and it was Rodney. He was happily munching scraps of food tossed to him by the head chef. He looked as if he had gained a pound or two.

I took Rodney home and he fell right back into his routine of dragging half eaten subs across the street before eviscerating them. A month or so later, he was gone again. I was convinced that this time he had been squashed by a car or ended up as General Tsao’s chicken at the local Chinese restaurant or both.

Turns out the little bastard was back at the French restaurant downtown. Mind you, it was about a mile from my home to this restaurant. And not a straight shot either. I went and got him and took him home. A week later he was gone once more. This time I went straight to the restaurant to retrieve the fur bearing traitor. When the owner asked me if I beat him or otherwise miss treated him thinking that might be the reason he kept leaving, I asked her what the head chef fed him. “Oh just scraps of steak, chicken or whatever we have on the menu.” Somewhat better that a meatball sub out of a dumpster!

At that point, I told the head chef he could keep Rodney since I couldn’t compete with calamari or escargot. The restaurant went out of business sometime afterwards and I heard a few years later that ole Rodney was living on an island off of the Maine coast. I am sure he has passed on now since he would be about 30 if still alive. But the little shit had a good life.

Next blog I will tell you about Mitchy the monster cat.


At 1:22 PM, Blogger Allyon said...

Cafe Petronella, right? Was that where Four is now?

At 3:58 PM, Blogger pcorre said...

no, it used to be next door to that old biker bar, more like where agave is now. They had an outdoor patio in the back. Joyce and I went out for a drink and spotted Rodney lounging in the sun. One happy cat.


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