The Funeral

Chap one here

Chap two here

Chap three here

Vid Cred: drawnmap96 :

Doctor Gary, The Vet, had been the one who had called to give me the unhappy news.

He NEVER asked any of his staff to perform these kinds of unpleasant duties. He was a good boss and a good, compassionate man who loved animals.

Sensing I was weeping, he said,
“It’s okay Lance. I’ll keep her here until you decide what to do. Take as long as you need.”
“Thank you,” I said, and hung up.

A day or two passed and Dick brought in a new-hire as a delivery boy. He was a rather short, slightly stocky College Kid, name of ‘Mike.’

In the meantime, I had called Dr. Gary and instructed him to dispose of the body. I explained that I just could not bear to come and pick her up.
He said he understood.

I immediately telephoned Lisa in Florida and informed her of my decision.
She said, “I cannot talk right now. I have a student in my office for a consultation. I’ll call you back.”
She was lying I found out later.

Immediately after she had hung up, she called Gary and told him not to dispose of Lucia.
(Commerce is a very small town and everyone knew everyone else, so he said, “Okay Lisa.”)
She called me back and told me what she had told Gary.

I asked her why. She said “I commissioned a tombstone for ‘Chia and have UPS’d it to you at Latsons’. You should have it in a couple of days. It is similar to the one we made for Kitty. I want her buried right next to him.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll take care of it.”

Two days later the UPS guy arrived, and since we were friends, he had no qualms about remarking, “This is sure a heavy package to be so small. What is it?”
“A tombstone,” Was all I said.

After he left I took the package to the back of the shop away from prying eyes and opened it.
It was a work of art—light gray stone, slightly rough oval-shaped, about eight by twelve inches, and an inch or so thick.

Engraved at the top was a small cat. Carved under that it read:

“Our Belov’d Lucia”
“Our Cat From Hell”
“Whom We Loved So Well”
“She Left Us Far Too Soon”
“ Forever In Our Hearts She Remains”
“To Haunt Us With Love And Sometime Pain”
“ Rest In Peace Little Darling Daemon Cat”

Dick came to the back of the shop, presumably looking for me and wondering why I was not manning the retail front of the business. He caught me weeping over a ‘rock.’
He walked over and read what I had just been reading. Then he started weeping too.

I re-wrapped the stone and placed it gingerly back into the box and returned to the front of the shop.
In my possession, I had several photos of Lucia. And at closing time, I laminated them, placing them in a manila envelope. Then took the photos and the stone home.

Next day, which happened to be a Friday, was Mike’s first day working under me as I was responsible for getting all the orders prepared for delivery.
I instructed Mike that after he had made his last delivery, he swing by the Vet Clinic and pick up my dead cat.

He looked at me as if I had just flown in from Mars, his mouth agape. I interrupted his bewilderment: “I’m serious. Do NOT return here without my cat, and don’t worry. She is frozen and fairly certain she isn’t a zombie. Now get gone.”

Few hours later he returned carrying a small cardboard box wrapped in red ribbon with a red bow taped on top.

As there yet remained a few hours in the work day, I took Lucia to our little break- room where we kept and old Sixties era refrigerator, the kind with the bottom part reserved for food brought from home for lunch (and beer). The top part, the freezer part reserved for ice cream and popsicles. Opening the freezer part, I shoved all the ice cream and popsicles into a pile and placed Lucia inside.

Now mind you, if any of my female co-workers had witnessed me doing this, there would’ve been some unhappy vociferous words hurled in my general direction, but none saw me.

Closing time came and I retrieved my Lucia along with the stone and went home and put her into MY freezer which never contained anything but vodka. I placed the photos and the stone on my kitchen table and went searching for her favorite toy, a little gray mouse imbued with catnip. Found it and put it on the table with the photos and the stone.

I called up my Girlfriend-du-Jour and asked her if she would be inclined to come over the next day (Saturday) for a funeral.

Happily for me, she said “Yes.” I did not want to be alone while burying my Lucia.
“Be sure to wear black,” I said.
All I had were Navy Blue garments, but ‘twould serve, I suppose.

Next morning she pulled up and saw me, shovel-in-hand digging a grave. And yes, she was decked out in a lovely black dress.

I asked her to go into my kitchen and bring out all the items on the table, which she dutifully did.
Lucia’s grave completed, about three by three and four feet deep. Nothing left to do now but get it over with.

I went into the freezer, pulled out the bottle of vodka and filled two ‘Texas-Sized’ shot glasses to their rims. Went back outside, careful to not spill nary a drop—a ‘talent’ I had mastered over the years. I handed her the glasses saying, “We’re gonna need these, so don’t spill any.”

Returning to the freezer, I gently removed the little box with the red ribbons and the red bow on top and carried it to the grave site, ever so carefully and respectfully to keep it level at all times. Gingerly I placed the tiny coffin down about midway by the grave, a foot away from the edge.

There was an old concrete bench; circa nineteen thirties, about two yards away from the grave site. (This was an old house I was calling ‘Home.’)
Realizing My Girl was struggling to not spill the vodka, I suggested she set the glasses onto the bench and come closer to me. Relieved, she did so and came up to stand by my side.

Spying some beautiful perennial blooming flowers that June had planted and taken meticulous care of when she had lived here, I decided they would serve a larger purpose today. So I walked over, and using my Buck Knife, proceeded to cut the top stim off of half of them.

Walked back over to the grave, and handed the ‘bouquet’ to My Girl.
“Please hold onto these, but don’t grow too fond of them.”

Jumping down into the grave, I reached over and very carefully and slowly picked up the little coffin and laid it as closely as I could in the middle, making sure it was level in the freshly loosened earth.

“Baby “I said. “set those flowers down and kindly hand me the photographs and the toy mouse.”
Clutching the photos in my left hand, with my right I placed the mouse facing to where I surmised Lucia’s little head would be.

Then tucked each photo under the red ribbons and climbed out of the grave.
Picked up the flowers, handing half of them to My Girl.

We stood over Lucia, and one at a time, we dropped a single flower on My Kitty-From-Hell, My Darling Lucia: until the flowers were all gone.
I retrieved the vodkas, handed one to My Girl.
We held our glasses high as I spoke these words:

“To My feisty, brave, mean as a snake, Beautiful Lucia
I will always love you
I will never release you from my heart
You rest now baby kitty”

We tossed back the vodka, then hurled our empty glasses against the concrete bench, shattering them into a million pieces.
We bent down and grabbed a fist of loose dirt, slowing releasing it and letting it spread over the flowers, the mouse, the photos.
And Lucia.

“Baby,” I said. “You may return inside the house now if you like. I’ll finish this.”
“No way.” She said. “I’m staying with you. What kind of Girlfriend would I be if I did otherwise?”

Picking up the shovel, I began to bury Lucia in earnest. Got about half-way through and broke down and dropped the shovel.
My Girl hurried over, threw her arms around me tightly and wouldn’t let go.
I gathered myself together enough to untangle us.
She was sobbing now as well.

I managed to finish the burying part.
Only one task left to perform: Placing The Tombstone.

It took me no less than fifteen minutes before the placement suited me. Remembering the spared half of June’s flower garden, I cut the remaining half off and placed them on Lucia’s grave, Took me fifteen minutes to get that just right as well.
We retired into the kitchen and attacked what was left of that bottle of vodka.

After becoming sufficiently drunk, I telephoned ‘Landlady June’ in Arizona.
“Hello June? This is Lance.”
“Yes. I know your voice Lance, especially your drunken one. (June and I were erstwhile lovers) What’s up?”

“I had to bury another cat in your backyard today.”
“Oh my God! Which one?”

“NOT Her! She was too mean to die!” (June of course, knew all my cats)

“True, but die she did. And my heart is broken.”
”Certainly it is. She was your favorite. I am so sorry Lance.”

“I seem to be turning your backyard into a pet cemetery. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t mind. I would have done the same thing.”

“There is one other thing; I kind of decimated your flower garden as well.”

“As long as you didn’t dig ‘em up by their roots, they’ll be just fine.”
“Of course I would never do such a thing. You know that.”

“Please take care of your self Lance. I miss you.”
“I miss you too June.”
“Bye for now.”

My Girl asked, “How’d she take the news?”
“She’s cool with it. We go way back.”
My Girl gave me a slightly side-ways glance and said, “Uh huh.”
“It’s not you’re thinking” I said.
“I’m quite sure it is, but at least she’s about a thousand miles away.”

“Any little bit of vodka left in that bottle?”
“Let me check.” She turned the bottle up, draining it, set it down and said
A woman after mine own heart.
First time I had laughed in days.
Then I realized,
Things were gonna be okay.
Just as long as I didn’t this lose this one:

This ‘MY Girl’

(Not actually My Girl, but close to what she looked like. Sadly, I do not have an actual photo of her)


Cred For Vid: danbanrock1

Kitty Muster: Roll Call! Fall in! (You Pussys!)

Vid Cred: CatsCovers


Had Five
Stand by…

And I will tell you why.

When I first met my soon to be third wife, (Shakespeare / Marlow Professor), She announced to the class, First Day of Class:

“My Name is ‘Lisa,’ but you may address me as ‘Professor’, or ‘Doctor Lisa.’ “

She continued:

I have three ex-husbands and five cats.”

(I was ‘instant – enamored’)

Three weeks later we were living together.

Of course I had to drop out of her class… well just because… I was ‘honorable,’ back in those days.
Seems to me I had two choices. I could sleep with her, or remain her student.

Not both.

I chose the former.

First time she invited me into her apartment the kitties all went crazy, running about, knocking over shit.
Vases, bowls in the kitchen, magazines, flower pots, etcetera.

She said, “They do this every time I return home. They’ll calm down in a few. Wanna drink?”
“Of course” I said.

Then Kitty Roll Call/Introductions:
Oldest to Youngest:

John Paul (AKA ‘Kitty) Old and pure white and touch me not.

Sabrina, Fat and gray, dumb as a box of rocks, huge belly, dragged the floor.

(Months later when we all moved into a real house with real wooden floors, I would spray her belly with Pledge and watch her walk about, dusting the floors…)

Lisa was not amused.

(But I was)

Midge (AKA: “Moochie”) Tiny. Pure solid black. Tiny. Small of frame. I could almost put her in my shirt pocket.

Henry. Large, very large Orange Buff Tabby. Sweetest disposition of ANY Cat I had ever known. He was the ‘Peace-Maker’

Henry had just one character flaw:

Every time I was on the telephone, he would jump onto my lap and ‘Meow’ his ass off.

He just would not allow me to have him second in my attention.

Lucia! (AKA “Chia” Cat From Hell.) Black and white. Had a body like Mary-Lou Retton,

kinda chunky and muscular and just as agile. First time I introduced myself, she bit me.

Then She clawed me. Left me bleeding.

(Not Mary Lou: Lucia)

(It was Love at First Bite)


Bonus Added Values:

Camila Cabello!

Shorter Version:


To Be Continued…

It is (Still) Morning (Mourning?) in America!

“Oh shit!” ‘Sorry Ronnie Toopac… Nancy’Melania!

It is ‘SundayTuesday  Wednesday in Amerika!

“Let us watch ‘The Golf’ read my tweets!”


“Huge vivla la diff’ eh’?”

“Oh Me ah me! What ever do you mean?” (Said Nancy Melania)

“Ah shit Nancy! Melania! I mean it is morning in Amerka! Didn’t I say that?!”

“No, you are a Commie if you did!”

Nancy! Melania! I am soooo Sorry! I lost my place! Here was I, back in the Eighties! Working for law and land! Money, lust, and US!

I even enlisted! I served my Country! What did I get? Bupkis!” What did I get? Rich!

“Butt… We (Ronnie and I—don’t he look cute—riding that horsey? Honey?—Now…what were you saying? You middle class? Oh Yeah! Something  about entitlements?”)

“Uh! Ya know what? Nancy? Mel? Never mind. We got ours. And ya know what? We got that Commie Bastard!—That Gorbo-chov!  That Puttie… God Bless America!”

“But… where is the money?”

“for America?”

For us?

Where is our prosperity?

I thought we won the war?

Where? Where are the fruits?

They just evaporated.

Didn’t they?

“I made enuff money to buy Miami, but I pissed it away so fast…”

–Jimmy Buffett

“Just say no,” “Make US Great”  was all she said, as she walked away.

(The conversation is ambiguous, waxes and wanes, for a reason: we are all to blame)

“You let ’em come home…” America.

We all should be allowed to come home. After all: it is the only place that stays open–all night.

We all should be allowed to come home. After all: it is the only place that stays open–all night.

We all should be allowed to come home. After all: it is the only place that stays open–all night.

We all should be allowed to come home. After all: it is the only place that stays open–all night.

We all should be allowed to come home. After all: it is the only place that stays open–all night.

We all should be allowed to come home. After all: it is the only place that stays open–all night.

The US of US is the only place that stays open all night. For All. We sort em out, once they (manage) to get here.

The US of US is the only place that stays open all night. For All. We sort em out, once they (manage) to get here.

For All.

Charley The Cougar

I like Critters

And Varmints

And Ants

And Spiders

And Crud Eaters

And Dogs

And Cats, especially Big Cats

The Summer of ’77 (sounds like a movie title)


Big Kitty

I was li

ving in Lake Charles with one of my best friends from high school, his Girl Friend, a Vietnam Vet (who did three tours with the First Cav as a chopper pilot), and his wife. The husband and wife owned a pet shop. The wife ran the place and the husband flew roughnecks back and forth to offshore oil rigs.

One day the wife, let’s call her Barbara, since that was her name, brought home a cougar. She had named him Charley and he was the size of a large house-cat. It was love at first sight for me as Charley was the only pussy I had yet seen or would see, turns out, during the entire six or so months I spent in Lake Charles.

Charley and I started sleeping together since the other two beds in the house already had reached capacity and since I was so very good with animals and since I really wanted a roommate. Therefore I took over the care and feeding and raising of Charley the young ‘un Cougar.

Charley grew rapidly on a steady diet of raw hamburger, flank steak, catfish, eggs, tennis shoes, and the occasional Budweiser. We would wrestle and play tug of war for several hours every day. The house had a long narrow hallway leading to the three bedrooms. Our favorite game was “Charley The Flying Cougar.” I placed an ottoman at the entrance to the hallway and Charley would stand at the other end. On my cue he would race down the hallway and Mary-Lou-Retton-Like, hit the ottoman like a launch pad seriously becoming airborne and landing on my shoulders.

We continued refining this sport even after he had grown to about a hundred pounds. Of course at that point when he hit my shoulders we both tumbled to the floor. He was always gentle with me and I never felt his claws or his teeth. Sorry to say I cannot say the same for my old high school buddy. He just did not understand animals. When Charley was still house-cat size he would play too roughly with him.

So, I warned my buddy one day, “You’re gonna make that cat hate you, and when he grows up he’s gonna seriously tear you a new asshole, Asshole.”

“Naw, he likes it.”

“Okay, but you’ve been warned.”

Sure as shit, couple of months later, said high school buddy got his ass handed to him by Charley. Buddy only bled for a little while, but that ended their relationship as far as ‘heavy petting’ was concerned. When Charley got to be upwards of 120 pounds he started taking his half of our bed out of the middle. Barbara suggested we make a bed for him in the garage, and since I was not getting enough sleep anymore, I concurred. She brought home the biggest doggy bed she had in her shop and we laid it out for Charley in the garage along with his favorite toys, food and water dish and a small portable radio thinking he might get a little lonely at night.

‘That radio will keep him happy,” Barbara said.

Au contraire.

That night we put him to bed in the garage just before we all retired; he was fine. For about thirty-five minutes. Then the Cougar Wails began. If you have never heard a hundred-twenty-pound cougar cry late at night, well you have missed something of nature. Everyone got out of bed and Barbara said, “Let’s just let him cry for a bit. I’m sure he’ll give up and go to sleep.”

About an hour and two bottles of wine later… We all gave up. Charley just would not shut up. I couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Please let him in Barb,” I said

She opened the door. Charley came bolting in; knocked me down, pinned me on the floor with his big paws on my shoulders, licked my face, then ran into our room and jumped into the middle of our bed.

“Well, we tried. Goodnight y’all,” I said as I picked myself up and headed in to join Charley.

Barbara had provided a collar and leash for Charley and we used to have great fun taking him out to the night clubs in Lake Charles. (Lake Charles was a really cool town back then, and Louisiana folks really did not seem to find it at all strange when someone walked into a bar with a cougar. But I will say this: when we did, the crowds always parted, making it very easy to belly-up to the bar. Charley became a regular guest at our most–frequent hangouts.

And he was the most awesome chick magnet in Calcasieu Parish.

But I still never managed to get laid in that town—very puzzling to me—but I did have a theory:

Since all the places we hung out were Greek Joints (My high school buddy was a Kappa Alpha, and insisted we only hang out with the ‘Brothers’ an’ ‘Sisters’), and since I was an ‘Independent’ and actually despised everything “Greek,” there was just no way any self-respecting sorority girl was gonna give it up for me, Cougar or no Cougar.

“Well, screw ‘em,” I finally decided. (Although, I was a little disappointed, ‘cause I found some of girls very appealing & screw-able in demeanor.)

If I could have just found Farrah… We had Cougars-in-Common.

Summer turned to fall and one day my buddy and I had to leave Lake Charles in a hurry (for reasons I cannot disclose until I check the ‘statute of limitations’), and head back to Texas. I hated to leave Charley and my other good friends, but I had a mind to leave the U.S. altogether and there was just no way I could take Charley with me.

I reapplied for the Sinai Field Mission gig I had wanted ever since I was eighteen and had first heard of it. As luck would have it, they agreed to hire me (Since by then I met their minimum age requirement of twenty).

About a week later, Halloween 1977, I arrived in the middle of the Sinai Desert.

Well, I just got back from New York city; Kris and Rita done it all

“Rita Coolidge, Rita Coolidge cleft for me”


–Willie Nelson

Since it is still Texas Independence Day, I am gonna continue to bombast my Blog with Texans I admire.

Here is (in my mind) one of the greatest (and most misunderstood and underrated) Texans: Kris Kristofferson, Rhode’s Scholar, ruffian, redneck, poet.

He married well. Too bad it didn’t take. Rita Coolidge! He should have found a way to make that work…