Jazzy Cat, Jazzy Cat, Baker’s Man…….

Jazzy cat is sick again and may soon be headed to wherever pets go when they depart from this earthly plane. She lived at my house for awhile and I got to know her pretty well. Now she hangs at the gf’s apartment and holds court in a quiet bedroom with Zen Buddhist- like simplicity and a candle-lit ambiance, which is appropriate. I dont usually like cats….even tho there were probably about a baker’s dozen of them living on and off in my garage last winter. My garage and unfinished basement are sort of like Florida for homeless feral cats. It’s warm and inviting year round and full of soft places to bed down for the nite. While I’m not crazy about the cat pee smell, I feel bad for them and admire their capacity to stay alive and overcome adversity. We had no formal arrangement, mind you but it seems they knew to pay me back for my human hospitality by keeping my house free of rats, mice and giant cockroaches. However, I dont feel the same way about most over domesticated kitty cats, especially the really puffed-up spoiled ones with jeweled collars who are innately aggressive, territorial, and prone to sudden acts of violence. They remind me too much of certain old girlfriends which triggers my PTSD and severe allergic reactions, just like said past relations. 

Jazzy cat is a whole ‘nother kind of cool ass house cat. Black, sleek, and curious, she is more my kind of feline and female. She doesn’t ask for too much, and she warns you at least once with her tail before she goes for your eyes or a little blood. Most of the time she is just playing with me, keeping her left jab and right hook in shape, and it is pretty obvious I am one of her favorite human beings. Another plus. This black cat looks good, keeps her weight down and assumes a stately pose even as she ages (16). In the last couple years Jazzy was forced to fight off a new cat competitor, a cohabitating young punk kitty from San Francisco named Crispy. Crispy is all about dominance, intimidation, the Benjamins and of course revenge. She lives to make Jazzy nervous and like Jason or Freddie Krueger in the horror movies she enjoys sticking her fully clawed paw under Jazzy’s door as if to say, “I’m coming bitch!!”  Unlike Jazzy’s Zen posture and peaceful approach to life, Crispy Cat lives to gain advantage and personal bragging rights, and can often be seen actively plotting Jazzy’s demise from the other bedroom. Honestly I think Crispy always had it in for Jazzy. It’s like they are in some epic competition between good and evil like Khan and Capt Kirk from Star Trek, Simon and Chubby the feuding mini-dachshund brothers, Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr, Israel and Iran, Ali and Foreman… only this is more like Ali (Jazzy) having to duke it out with a young George Foreman in his current debilitated condition. It isn’t a fair fight as Crispy has age, weight, a sneaky temperament, and a stunning arsenal of sharp hand-held weapons. Also, unlike Jazzy, Crispy still has all her teeth and when she opens her mouth it looks like miniature Great White shark. The best thing to do is keep the bedroom doors shut and a spray bottle full of water close by. We know Jazzy’s time is limited. Nobody wants to admit she might be on her last cat-litter and turd encrusted leg. Regardless of my lifelong allegiance and identity as a dog person, I have to admit my special fondness for Jazzy Cat. When she goes I’m going to really miss her.

June 3, 2014 Epilogue: While I was talking on the phone tonight with Rebecca, Jazzie Cat died lying next to her. Now it’s time to cry…..and remember her forever.



About captaincliff

Psychologist by day, insomniac Pirate blogger by night, this Child of God likes to share sarcastic social commentary as well as topsy-turvy observations about life, love and the pursuit of zaniness, a functional form of insanity in an increasingly insane world
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