Tales of the Idiot


an empty space in my heart where a cat used to live

Ren Cat
I so don’t want to write about death, regular writers of this collection of words can most likely attest , it seems like the tag that looms the largest, what can I say it’s not intentional, it just the timing. My goal with this blog was to write about what happened more or less as I feel like writing about it. Now once again it seems that death is in the forefront.

On December 7, a day which will live in infamy for more then one reason, my cat Ren died. I don’t want to sound like one of those crazy cat owners, whose cats are their lives, they have cats on their checks, and send cat cards, and buy books with pictures of cats doing funny things Problem is, to some extent I am a crazy cat owner, not so much on the cat pillow thing, I do talk to my cats , and Ren was my favorite conversation partner. Ren had been my cat since ’90 or ’91 – I am sort of crap with dates.

From the moment I met her I knew that we were going to be friends, I think she knew too, because she peed on my jacket. I was marked. Soon she became my newest roommate; the day I moved into the apartment she moved into my closet, and she never left. She saw me through the cyber punk, the first round of retro electro,grunge, alt-rock, indy, emo,free jazz, the second techno explosion, the internet boom, the internet bust, shoegaze, illbient,glam, acid jazz, a classic rock phase, a myriad of bad relationships, a couple of good ones, five apartments and one house, lots of parties, hundreds of records, 4 labels, 5 or 6 magazines, millions of words, one successful tv show, two failed pilots, 4 plays, a gaggle of museum shows, and a couple of films, one school, a separation, a reunification, one incurable disease, and a small army of colds, flues and food poisonings.

I can’t think of many friends that have weathered that many roads with me. She saw me at my best, she saw me at my worst and at my most average, and loved me regardless. Sure conversation could be a little one sided, but she always listened , she was my collaborator and my muse. And now I have a cat shaped hole in my heart (and that’s not my line , but damn it is a good one). Ren always hung out on my desk, lounged out, willing to have any idea bounced off of her. She stepped on pianos, jumped on keyboards, triggered machines, what others might see as animal interference provided a strange insight and opportunities to go down different roads.

The details of the stories that Ren and I shared are probably of little consequence to anyone save the two of us, It s not really about words, it’s about a truth that goes beyond what can be verbalized. It’s a truth that can’t be explained. So here we are left, oh dear and gentle reader, You and I , and the only thing I can say is, that my heart is broken, that the simple act of sitting on the couch to read a book is forever changed by her absence, and that I miss my friend.

There are 4 Comments to "an empty space in my heart where a cat used to live"

  • Fugate says:

    You left out the Great THC Overdose of Passover 1998 (I think that was the year). She and Stimpy (RIP) sat guard over you like the lions in front of the New York Library.

  • dhuth says:

    I really appreciated your words here. My cat Mooch is getting on in years and I dread the day that has to come i suppose. Some people think its ridiculous to make friends with an animal, but i don;t, so thank you for these words. I hope you can find some happiness in the holidays, and have a groovy week.

  • yama says:

    man astam yama az pakistan aslam abad

  • wow, I have no idea what that means

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  • a little about me…

    A man of many lives-some know Strouth as the filmmaker who behind the documentary "Unconvention: a Mix Tape from St. Paul" about the 2008 RNC, and M-80, some as a writer, or as a producer and musician and then of course their is the whole getting a kidney transplant over Facebook and Twitter thing.
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