For the Wild-Hearted Souls

I took Blackjack to the park today. On the way, I pass the bar, and a man standing in the entryway stopped me, saying, “What a lovely kitty! I’ve got a shoulder cat myself. Want to meet her?” 

So of course I said yes, and followed the man into Plew’s, where a fluffy black cat lay in a nested pile of audio cables atop the piano beside the stage. Her lemon-lime eyes opened a crack when the man whistled softly to her, and but she otherwise ignored us until she spotted Blackjack in my arms. 

In an instant, she was on alert, her eyes wide in astonishment. Blackjack extended his neck to touch noses as she did the same. There was a tense moment when their noses finally touched, and then, the fluffy kitty hissed shortly at Blackjack. The man and I laughed. 

“Bird, she’s good with strangers. But guess she’s a little jealous now there’s another cat! What’s it’s name, anyhow?” he asked. 

“Blackjack,” I answered, as the man lifted his kitty from her nesting spot and set her atop his shoulder where she glared at us from on high. She was regal. And she had six toes on each foot, which made her paws look impossibly large for a simple house cat. They were like snowshoe lynx paws. 

Upon hearing the name of my companion, the man laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. “No way!” he exclaimed. “My Bird here is Blackbird!” 

So there we were, two complete strangers in a bar in Portland, with two pure black shoulder cats named Blackbird and Blackjack. 

Chris, Blackbird’s human, set her on the stage in the window where the evening sun wafted in with a golden brightness. Despite Blackbird’s apparent dislike for Blackjack, Blackjack was struggling to be put down, so I set him on the stage too and let go of his leash so he could roam. 

Of course, his first course of action was to arch his back and run sideways toward Blackbird, who, while easily three times his size, looked utterly shocked by my kitten’s daring. I couldn’t blame her. Even Paco was no match for Blackjack’s bold lack of restraint in social situations. He did the same thing to dogs as big as me. 

Thankfully, Blackbird didn’t run, and when she held her ground, Blackjack lost interest. The other bar-goers were pleasantly entertained by the two animal guests on stage, and a few came to give gentle pets and praise. 

Chris and I chatted as our companions entertained themselves. In time, a hobo wandered in and began playing harmonica, and it occurred to me that nowhere else on earth could I find a sight like that which was now before me:

In the evening sunset glow, two black socialized cats - one with no tail, and the other with extra toes - gamboled about on the stage at a bar, while a wandering homeless man struck up an impromptu harmonica accompaniment to the reggae music playing on the bar stereo.  Meanwhile, people drank their beers and laughed and talked as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 

When the hobo finished playing along to the music, I shook Chris’s hand and said farewell to Blackbird before continuing on my way. It was another magical day in Portland. 

This one time in Spanish class, one of the stoner kids kept texting while the teacher was talking. Our teacher, something of a lose cannon under stress, kept telling him to put it away or she’d take it from him. The text offender would stop just long enough for the teacher to regain her cool, then he’d stealthily go right back to it. 

At last, after about a half-hour of this game, the teacher swooped down from the front of the room and stood before the stoner kid’s desk, then shouted in a fiery rage:

“I SWEAR TO GOD, IF YOU PULL THAT THING OUT ONE MORE TIME, I’M GOING TO MAKE YOU CRY LIKE A LITTLE GIRL!”

The room went silent, as most of the students were in a state of relative shock. Yet before I could stop myself, I muttered, “That’s what she said.”

The room erupted and laughter, but I was forced to spend the rest of the class period out in the hall conjugating verbs in Spanish. But it was worth it. Soooo worth it. 

Woke up this morning to Paco violently pawing at the side of my bed. I assumed that he was just being a dick, until I rolled over and saw that he’d pinned something to the towel laying there from yesterday’s shower. 

He dug into the folds of the towel, and as he did, revealed a GIGANTIC hobo spider.

I instantly cast about for a weapon, but before I could find a good squishing tool, Paco had opened his shiny jaws and chomped the thing whole. He tossed it between his back teeth and I could hear the crunching. Evidently, my cat is a goddamn super hero.

Though I am worried that perhaps he was bitten. Paco-Kitty will be under close observation today.

On a side note - WHY THE HELL DO I KEEP RUNNING INTO HOBO SPIDERS!?

I hope it’s not a totem animal thing. I like spiders, but after being bit by a hobo spider last summer….just no.  

There were a couple of cats fighting outside. So naturally, the first thing out of my mouth when I opened the window to shout at them was, “NO KITTEH! THAT’S MY POT PIE!” 

Little did I know, the neighbor was smoking on the deck. I think he almost inhaled his cigarette laughing.