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Sunday, August 7, 2011

Wherein Pearl Gains Cats in Her Belfry

Those who know me know that I’m always looking for ways to make an extra buck. I wouldn’t say that I’m driven, but the grinning visage of my eternally optimistic and hardworking father has taken up permanent residence in my mind’s eye.

“There’s always ways to make a buck,” my father likes to say. “You go where the need is, then all you have to do is convince them that you’re their man.”

Well, there are needs and there are needs, so when I found myself with an empty attic and an all-cat band with no where to practice…

They promise me that their legal matters have been cleared, that their battle with the Internal Revenue Service has been exaggerated, and that the smell that seems to cling to the piano player will dissipate with time.

I do hope renting to a band doesn’t turn out to be a mistake.

The band – Squeak Toy – has been practicing for weeks, after all, in the basement (or, as the drummer calls it "the abasement"). I’m tired of squeezing by them to do the laundry, and I’m sick to death of giving it away for free.

This is not high school, after all.

But where are my manners? You’ve met Squeak Toy, haven’t you? There’s Liza Bean Bitey (of the Minneapolis Biteys) on electric violin; Stumpy “Lucky” Strykes on drums; Ignatz D. Katz on upright bass; and on piano a large long-hair with yellow eyes introduced to me, less than cryptically, I thought, as “Hairball” .

I met them with the keys, at their request, at the back steps on August 1st, just moments after the clock struck midnight.

I suspect they may have been drunk at the time.

Why else would Lucky have said, “You look very – hic! – lovely this evening, Miz Pearl”?

Since then, of course, there have been small issues. The continual disappearance of ice from my freezer suggests that copies of my personal keys have been made. The lavender-on-lavender striped curtain in the back hall has been replaced with a pattern that can only be described as “kitty pin-up”.

The apres-bar last night included what sounded to be both bagpipes and a bow drawn across a saw.

Of course, I woke them early this morning with the dulcet marching tones of John Phillips Sousa and the smell of frying bacon.

Cats hate marching bands.

“Thtill,” Dolly Gee Squeakers (formerly of the Humane Society Squeakers) said, sipping her coffee and blowing cigarette smoke out the window, “it’th rather nithe having Bohemianth in the attic. Lendth the plathe an air of thophithticathun, don’t you think?”

Sophistication?

Sophistication and rent money!

23 comments:

mybabyjohn/Delores said...

One cats music is another womans reason to call the police. Lock up the scotch.

R. Jacob said...

I think the contract for this event was drawn up on a rather tattered bar napkin, slightly wet, with dimmed lights over a few drinks at the local drinking establishment!

Leenie said...

Bet Squeak Toy's apres-bar performances keep away the vermin--including the neighbors you haven't managed to fit with a radio collar. May I request a hot version of "Devil Went Down to Georgia"?

Everyday Goddess said...

Now i'm remembering all kinds of cat inspired rock anthems from the 70's:

Cat Scratch Fever - Ted Nugent
Get Down - Gilbert O'Sullivan cat reference is in there i promise
Josie and the Pussycats

Leslie said...

Tell me they perform Harry Chapin's "Cats in the Cradle" and I'll be at their next gig in a heartbeat.

Bouncin' Barb said...

Thufferin' Thuccatash! Too funny. Loved it!

Pearl said...

Poor Dolly. The lisp has been hard on her. :-)

Cal's Canadian Cave of Coolness said...

Those Hep Cats really know how to swing. Cool Daddio.

IndigoWrath said...

Hey Pearl! Tread carefully, ma'am; you know all too well that cats (even apparently stoned ones) are sharp in business. Don't be tempted by a cut of their profits, get a cut of their take. Ticket sales and merchandising are where the money is these days. And shares in seafood. Indigo x

aBroad said...

Definitely an air of Thophithticathun !! Even Pup agrees on that ~

jenny_o said...

You won't be worrying about a few bags of ice when the steaks and that whole turkey you got on sale after Easter start disappearing ...

Does Dolly Gee play anything? (I'm thinking she sounds like a harmonica gal)

willfulresemblance said...

had a long comment that vanished. dammit.

Rawknrobyn.blogspot.com said...

Loved this fun post, especially the "kitty pin-up." They're clearly getting a good deal.
xoRobyn

Pearl said...

Dolly DOES play the harmonica, now that you mention it!

Mostly, though, she's really into the old-style country-western: Hank Williams Sr., Conway Twitty, and her very favorite, Patsy Cline.

Eva Gallant said...

I'm keeping an eye out for their first album!

Daisy said...

We need a promotional picture of the band so we can help promote it!

Douglas said...

I hope you got a security deposit... in case they leave a few deposits themselves.

Susan in the Boonies said...

Pearl, honey...you really know better than this.

This can lead to no place good.

~sigh~

Will stay tuned.

Who doesn't love a good train wreck?

Especially when the engineer is a cat.

Gigi said...

Why didn't I think of that! Being tight for cash and having an empty bonus room....hmmm do they know any bands in our area looking for a place to rent?

My Journey With Candida said...

I guess you have to ask yourself if it is all worth it? The things I know about cats... They are sneaky and have 9 lives.

New follower and I love your blog.

Shelly said...

Josie and the Pussycats they are not!

HermanTurnip said...

No no no no no! Do *not* rent them space for "band practice". I had a recent run-in with these "cats", and let me tell you, they're nothing more than cat nip lovin', mice chasin', tail waggin' sums-o-catses. You think you're gonna get rent money outta them, but they only thing you'll get is a bunch of dead birds at your front door. They caterwaul at all hours, and when when you complain they claim that you "just don't get the feline vibe".

Oh, and Hairball is the worst of the lot. Always mewing about "resonance" and demanding that his rider demands that all brown mice be separated into their own individuals bowls. Pompous arse...

Pat Tillett said...

Classic!
It's much better to have a cat band around, than a dog band. The dog bands always break up after they've chewed their instruments down to nothing...