Thursday, October 19, 2006

The Kraken RIP

My girl’s cat passed away at 10:30 AM. His name was Big Man and he was a black cat.

I called my girl right after my CivPro Midterm and she was crying.
Big man had just died in her arms. We’re not sure what cause of death was, except probably old age. He was seventeen which is like 900 years-old in cat time.


Big man lived his final years naked, except for furry black socks, and facial hair. My girl asked if she could use my electric razor to shave her “cat.” Through a misinterpretation between the slang meaning of “cat” and the literal “cat” I thought my girl was getting “freaky.” Later when I saw that her slang “cat” was not shaved, I asked, “Yo, what the hell? I thought you were going to shave it.” My girl laughed and said, “Not that cat, my CAT cat.” She pointed at the floor. There was Big Man, preening his SKIN because he had no fur, except about the face and legs.

My girl has never sufficiently explained why she shaved her cat. Apparently her friend “Latina MILF,” shaved her cat and my girl thought the idea was a ringer. Or wanted to be like her. My girl felt that was keeping Big Man “cool” in hot Los Angeles, save him from the hot blustery Santa Ana winds. My feeling is: my girl was the little girl who fucked Barbie’s hair up just because, and then she was stuck with a platoon of Evil Haircut Barbie Dolls.


Big Man was perpetually hungry. The monkey on his back was food. A mean little Beadie-smoking monkey, wearing a Fez and crashing cymbals. The cat was always hungry. (don’t know what Beadies are, click here)

It was by this monstrous appetite that he came to be known as “The Kraken,” the famed oceanic beast who devoured whole ships. [it made an appearance in Pirates 2]

The Kraken circled underfoot like a hammerhead shark, “bumping” against your ankle for something good to eat.
You huff up the steps returning from the store. You kick the door open as groceries rip your arms from the sockets, from your peripheral vision you see your foot coming directly down on the underfoot-Kraken’s head. You waffle-stomp to avoid him smack your head against the lamp, and the bags would rip. As blood drooled into your eye, you see the Kraken’s pink tongue gently licking the package boneless chicken breasts. Even though he was de-clawed, I saw him rip open a bag of tortilla chips. He was also known to eat George The Dog’s food, when he wasn’t yet satisfied. If My Girl and I ever died in a freak Bo-Flex accident, the authorities would find two half-eaten corpses and The Kraken, fat, licking his lips in the corner.

The Kraken was at times was incontinent and thus we put diapers on him for awhile. You would come home and find his diaper, highlighter yellow and the same weight as a ten pound shotput. We donned him in Newborn Huggies with a hole cut in the back to thread his tail through. If you failed to put Diapers on him then his favorite place to pee was the bathmat. That’s right partner, “squish.”

Final Days of The Kraken Speedwagon

The thinness of his hips signaled the end of The Kraken’s days, though he never ceased eating. My girl and I knew the dirt nap was coming, but we didn’t say anything. Probably because The Kraken was such a weird fucker that he might pull through in a freak miracle. But none of us escapes.

He curled up on the “Big Chair” The Night before. Hours were what he had left. I was barbecuing pork (b/c I’m perpetually hungry too). He hadn’t moved for a long time to conserve vital life force. After three days of straining, he couldn’t shit. He was constipated. He was exhausted. But when I placed a succulent piece of pork under his nose, he came alive in an explosion of sniffing, like a crack head, determined to have his juicy morsel even on his death bed.


His final night my girl put him under the covers. Unlike most cats who can’t stand affection, The Kraken was comfortable tucked against her arm. The next morning my girl told me, “I’m taking the day off.” She knew. I knew. I grabbed my crap for law school and kissed Big Man’s nose. This was the last time I would see him and I knew it. Life is a bitch and then you die, or as The Bodhi Sattva says: Birth is suffering, age is suffering, death is suffering. Right on the money there ‘ol boy. I nodded to the old black cat, laying on a queen sized bed with comforter and a human woman looking after him in his twilight zone.

My girl held him when he died, and I guess he did a real death rattle too. It really touched me to think that my girl cared that much for another living thingy. She was there for him. Usually, the pet dies while the family is on a trip, or at school, in a Chinese Restaurant, or alone in the street. Not Big Man. He wasn’t alone. He had the best that an evolved opposable-thumbed biped could offer, and that’s something for a cat. She wrapped him in a white towel, and tied him with ribbons. She put her Rosary Beads on him and said a prayer. Then she cleaned the apartment and took him down to the vet, where he’ll be turned to ash. After that she cleaned the apartment and went to work. Birth is Suffering, Age is Suffering, Death is Suffering.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Joke heard on golf course today has new meaning with this entry. When you get married there are 3 rings: engagement ring, wedding ring and suffering...the ole aybee

3:37 PM

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Thank you for loving Big Man so much! I love you..........

5:26 PM


Post a Comment

<< Home