Ramon was such a good natured outlaw. A slow moving, powerful feral cat, many sizes larger than average, he and my own kittie held court on the front porch, with regularity. I would overhear through the screen door their kinship. My cat had all modcons, as our Brittish pals might say, and Ramon lived in a crack hovel abondoned years ago, with his family, his cats, as broad as rainbows arch. He would visit, and we would spend time down the street, with the zillion feral cats.
Not hardly typical of my beloved Noodles, she waxed nostalgic the other evening. Noodles speaks fluent English, born of feral cats not two litters back from that dicy way of life, half wild, not at all averse to a relationship. I think she's found something new in herself, knitted from experience. Some ethnic American gangsters are known to find their herritage through this same process. But a cat cannot be a criminal.
A feral cat is outlaw. The difference has been explained by many as an outlaw didn't choose to be on the outs. People can be like that, and cats certainly. Noodles, my sleek angel calico, was reserved and guarded, yet fluent, about her lost companion, Ramon. "We are outlaws for speaking the truth," I once heard the kohl black alley cat confide to Noodles.
"Speaking the truth." I liked Ramon. A cat of few words. "Killing a robbin, or some gringo's parakeet is something that we must do. Have you known me to be a sadist? Was anyone downtown sweating the fate of their prime rib at the Duquesne Club? We are proud, bird-eating outlaws."
Reviled for snagging lunch. And for spreading rabies. "Need I remind that founding fathers spread syphillis," Ramon would say. "More people die from roller skating accidents than from us." he mused. And the vast numbers of feral cats was provided for in all the decaying homes the city confiscated and left to rot. What fine city planning we had, when Tom Murphy was in office.
It was sometime in 2008 that the back hoes came. The crack houses were demolished, but not before arch urban treachery. It was reported on the news. Propaganda. Feral cats with rabies. Near where people's brats play in the street, thus there is concern. More items on the news. The no-kill animal shelters would be finding homes for the feral cats. But the cats were massacred using traps and poisons. It's cheaper. Faster. This North Side 'hood is not a place that squawks. We don't cry to authorities. We let the good old boys play their tricks.
The other night Noodles was saying the pink jagged scar that ran down Ramon's face, and the way his one broken whisker strayed from the other fierce, downward black hairs , reminded her of Al Capone. I could see the resemblance. There were many cats lost to the massacre, many looked like Ramon. He was fertile. That cat spoke with us. Noodles shared her recollections, sitting up on the futon under the reading lamp. then we retired. She snuggles better than most cats.
Not hardly typical of my beloved Noodles, she waxed nostalgic the other evening. Noodles speaks fluent English, born of feral cats not two litters back from that dicy way of life, half wild, not at all averse to a relationship. I think she's found something new in herself, knitted from experience. Some ethnic American gangsters are known to find their herritage through this same process. But a cat cannot be a criminal.
A feral cat is outlaw. The difference has been explained by many as an outlaw didn't choose to be on the outs. People can be like that, and cats certainly. Noodles, my sleek angel calico, was reserved and guarded, yet fluent, about her lost companion, Ramon. "We are outlaws for speaking the truth," I once heard the kohl black alley cat confide to Noodles.
"Speaking the truth." I liked Ramon. A cat of few words. "Killing a robbin, or some gringo's parakeet is something that we must do. Have you known me to be a sadist? Was anyone downtown sweating the fate of their prime rib at the Duquesne Club? We are proud, bird-eating outlaws."
Reviled for snagging lunch. And for spreading rabies. "Need I remind that founding fathers spread syphillis," Ramon would say. "More people die from roller skating accidents than from us." he mused. And the vast numbers of feral cats was provided for in all the decaying homes the city confiscated and left to rot. What fine city planning we had, when Tom Murphy was in office.
It was sometime in 2008 that the back hoes came. The crack houses were demolished, but not before arch urban treachery. It was reported on the news. Propaganda. Feral cats with rabies. Near where people's brats play in the street, thus there is concern. More items on the news. The no-kill animal shelters would be finding homes for the feral cats. But the cats were massacred using traps and poisons. It's cheaper. Faster. This North Side 'hood is not a place that squawks. We don't cry to authorities. We let the good old boys play their tricks.
The other night Noodles was saying the pink jagged scar that ran down Ramon's face, and the way his one broken whisker strayed from the other fierce, downward black hairs , reminded her of Al Capone. I could see the resemblance. There were many cats lost to the massacre, many looked like Ramon. He was fertile. That cat spoke with us. Noodles shared her recollections, sitting up on the futon under the reading lamp. then we retired. She snuggles better than most cats.
No comments:
Post a Comment