I went to visit Steve a couple weeks ago. He is living in a building on a friend’s land, a Spartan existence of concrete floor, bare-stud walls, a sheet of heavy plastic dividing his living area from the wood shop. Like Steve – or me, or perhaps, even you – his place of residence is a work in progress.
Steve is not exactly of this world, or perhaps even of this planet. Had he been born in another time, he would be someone you would visit on the top of a mountain or somewhere in a cave. Steve’s got an incredible amount of patience as well as many, many answers, some of which could actually be in response to a question.
Steve’s not everyone’s cup of tea; but then again, neither am I. He’s a dear friend, and we “get” each other.
He’s also a source of devilment, however, the man who punishes any perceived misbehavior on my part by enforced watchings of “Apocalypse Now” (knowing how it freaks me out) or required listening of fire-and-brimstone preachers exhorting me to both “get right” and to also “dig deep” in my pockets.
Have you seen my pockets? I sold them to pay for the pants.
Still, Steve’s a happy person, a maker of hand-crafted electric guitars, funky high-heeled women’s shoes (which I’ve had the pleasure of modeling), a painter, a sculptor, and songwriter.
He is also a full-time god.
Just ask Pig.
Pig is his cat, a slender black animal with the sense to recognize and appreciate Paradise when he comes across it. Steve believes in a clean food bowl and a clean litter box, has taught the cat to “sit like a walrus”, and claims Pig once ran lights for that Australian Pink Floyd group.
I think he made that last part up.
In return, Pig worships Steve. The elaborate weaving about the ankles, the way the cat pulls his lips back in a toothy smile when he hears his master's voice, the seismic purring whenever Steve says “I taut I taw a puddy tat!” all speak to their mutual admiration.
It’s a simple life, a cash-and-carry life for a man and his cat; and I can’t help but be a bit jealous of their relationship.
I’ll bet it’s nice to be worshipped in such a way. And I’ll bet it’s even nicer to sleep at the foot of your god’s bed.
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29 comments:
I would say that I am alla-most like Steve eXcept I have a dog who adores me everytime I come in the door, but (mainly) eXcept I have a youngest brother named Steve, and with that the whole thing shatters like weLL struck glass in slow motion in silence filmed at 1000 frames a second. WeLL, it is pretty even being destroyed.
Why do I hear the strains of Canned Hat's "Going up the Country?"
Pearl, what are you withholding?
that's Canned Heat, not Hat....
Would I like to be a God? Probably not - too much responsibility.
esb, ya know, I followed you all the way through that!
Teresa, actually (and of course I know the song and the band!) that works pretty well.
Lucy, and not many days off! :-)
Oh I love artists and writers they are special hence the furry attachment. B
That's the opposite of what I expected, but I like the twist. I heard a story about what a man does for his dog, and the dog thinks, "He must be god." Then the story describes how the man does all the same things for his cat, and the cat thinks, "I must be god."
It warms the heart to think that we might sleep at the feet of the Lord, but even more to know how much he cares for his people.
"It is vain for you to rise up early, To retire late, To eat the bread of painful labors; For He gives to His beloved even in his sleep." Psalm 127:2 (KJV)
I just saw how complicated the lights are for the Australian Pink Floyd group. Pig is some cat! (lol)
Buttons, :-)
Craver vii, I'm glad to have surprised you. And yes, Pig knows his way around a light board. :-)
Since our Thomas finally used up the last of his very full nine lives I've missed being his servant, hustling to fulfill his every need. I still step over his dark spirit when I make night visits to the loo. Sometimes with felines the worshiping seems to work the other way.
Feeding and cleaning the liter box are not divine functions to my cats, they are mundane quotidian duties of an otherwise irrelevant staff member.
I wish I'd thought to call my cat Pig. That's just cool. Especially as she now sees the middle (carpeted) step as a place to piss.
My young nephew called his goldfish Cockroach... I see a trend here.
Steve and Pig may have been conjoined twins in another lifetime... you just never know...could have been. Having a great cat is special, one that sits like a walrus- extraordinary. I want that. And I believe him when he says that PIG ran lights. Anything is possible...I had a psychic cat- he died... he did not see that coming- then I questioned his psychic abilities, but like Leenie's Thomas, his shadow still sleeps in corners and on top of fresh laundry, and I still hear him clicking across the wood floor.
I hadn't thought through to the god like status. But when I walk into my office Toby jumps to the back of the office chair so he can be level with my face. Hmmmm....
God's name is Steve? When I was little, group recitation and a hearing problem made me think it was Howard, as in "...Howard be thy name." But "Steve" is good.
To a cat...anyone holding a can opener is a god.
Each of my cats thought he (or she) was God. I was there merely to see to their needs.
Do they have an Aussie Rolling Stones?
I am a goddess. A domestic one. I have a crown and everything. :)
I am with Douglas except that all of the cat I have ever shared my life with KNOW that they are God.
Steve sounds like an amazing person to have in your life. And I love that you get each other.
People always brag about how smart their pet is. I want a dog to wait all day for me to come home and then treat me like a god when I walk in the door. Let's face it, only a creature with low intelligence would do this.
In my youth I had house pets that treated me in like manner; then I discovered I was allergic to them, which explained my recurring sinus infections. Now my only house pet is Mr. Eva; fortunately I'm not allergic to him, and he cleans his own litter box.
I already love Steve!! A craftsman who loves cats...my kind of man!! I speak with my cat and she answers. When I come home she is very happy to see me, will wnat a hug and will wrap her arms around my neck and lick my face, the whole time purring so loud. She sleeps cuddled next to me and een has her own blanket.
You can tell a lot about people by how they treat their pets. Steve sounds like a good guy.
Aside from the Apocalypse Now and preacher antics, of course.
Steve sounds like an interesting friend to have.
When I was little I was told God's name was Huey, because whenever it began to rain after a long dry spell(decades here in Aus.)the farmers would look skywards and say "send her down Huey!"
I wish I could live a simple life... and not 'need' so much stuff.
Sx
I can assure you dear Pearl that I have no idea whatsoever what it's like to be treated as a god...a DOG however I can tell you about!
Steve sounds like he has everything he needs. You on the other hand should not be watching scary movies.
It is a wise mammal that knows its place in the grand scheme of things. I report to the parrot.
It must be love. Not many cats would put up with a concrete floor.
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