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Ringo RIP

Sad to say that Ringo passed away on April 12th. He was a victim of a hit and run and was instantly killed. We will miss him for all the personality he displayed- Stay tuned for an update on the poetry book Ringo had been working on –
“smooth criminal” to be released near end of year. there was a renegade poet inside that fur and he had completed about a dozen poems that were to be published soon. With his death, I will try and get his work out soon, his voice is still meowing  in my ear, I will try and pass it on in a few months.

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” Roar” I’m Ringo!  and i have to admit, i am on my persons lap – and i am no lap cat! i hate the 4th of July – it’s way to loud, the sound is deafening. my ears hurt.

non -tribute to july 4th

i don’t get it – independence day?
who gives a rats ass about humans and their eardrum smashing holidays?
what’s all the noise supposed to prove –
it would be better to call it ‘Scare The Hell Out of Critter Day!

Independence Day? That’s everyday for me
i like it nice and calm
to hear only the birds so i can snag one
to listen to the squirrel complain so I know the line of attack
to know where the dancing feet of field mice and moles are
and to follow in the shadows close behind

I much prefer silent cat anarchy
how can i relax when my ears are assaulted by
the noise of 1000 gangland assassins armed with uzi’s
clogging the otherwise quiet night with echoing missile launches
while groups of people scream at the  man made catastrophic bliss,
of flares and whistles and measured patterns plastered against the dark-

are these humans mad?
so displaced and pickled with shrill instead of dill!
my body vibrates with each boom
my head aches with repetitive bangs
my paws must touch something solid
away from the chaos
within the house of my person who tells me
things are cool
it’s just some excited fellow americans
flushing out liberty and freedom from the darkness
grateful to our soldiers who keep us safe
while also funding the chinese by buying lots of  explosive shit

Safe? I go bust my neuteured balls everyday  in my own pursuit of  liberty and freedom-
i have independence every damn day!
“ROAR – I’m Ringo!  
well, maybe it is good to have freedom here in america
because i might be cat-gut soup or cat fu yung in asia,
my cut off tail draped across the spokes of a bicycle peddling
to the great wall-

i still don’t get it-
can’t humans quietly celebrate?
they already make too much noise with their cars
and airplanes
and emotional outbursts,
in fact, the only sound of liberty i truly enjoy
is when my person releases the tab of that cat food can,
the  ‘whoosh’ and pursuit of freeing the lid from the can,
ah, now that is pure liberation from a vacuum seal!
everytime i hear it,
it signifies independence from me being a hunter,
okay, i lie,
i would hunt anyway just for the thrill –
so  give me a home
where the buffalo roam
and the thunder of the herd
is seldom heard
no rockets red blare no bombs bursting in air
no honks no screams
no man made machines
and you humans will hear what i hear –
the void of human existence
the rhythm of where nature takes the day,
it’s called living in cat anarchy
it’s called peace…

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yep, that’s all that’s left, the head of the shiner.  i showed him no mercy either- what’s the point? sink the teeth in and get it over with. it’s who i am.
my person caught a bass. it was a good size fish, she’s done better.   but so what? she was also catching shiners and as long as i’m thrown a fish, that’s all that matters.
there were lots of birds in the yard today,  i could have had my choice; dove,     woodpeckers,  
blackbirds,    crows,   mockingbirds,     cardinals,  
etc etc.  and the things i love to give a run for its’ life –   – ya, squirrels -“go ahead and make my day”    a cool cat named eastwood said that.
the fishing was good tonight, though i had to share fish with the heron.   but i’m not complaining, life is good when humans glorify cats as pets, makes it real easy to stare at my human and control her at will. too easy being me – ROAR-I’M RINGO…  

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Inertia! That’s Frankie sitting in that chair, she’s the queen of inertia.   Here’s a picture of her at a party recently, she looked so dead that even the party people were taking photos of her and she never woke up once.     Inertia can kill a cat! But I’m Ringo, ROAR,    I think on my feet unlike Frankie there.  She still has all her lives left and she’s an ancient,  but she’s a risk taker, I like that, She sits on a chair and dares that male crane to come and peck the crap out of her, and does she look worried, no –

She’s lazy and will avoid moving unless motivated,  a hurricane would have to blow her away to get her off that chair, or a good meal.  But what does she know of a really good meal? She thinks bagged, dry cat food is gourmet – HA!

I’m Ringo, ROAR, I have been run over and had a couple other brushes with death,  just call me Kryptonite Kat – I have enough lives left to kick some cat ass when I feel like it!

Getting back to those cranes, they are tall and fully block the sun when they stand near me. I have had a number of run ins with those birds, they think they can put one over on me, but I’m just too stealthy  for those bird brains.  Here’s some past moments of cat/crane encounters:

my old buddy Church, cool in the face of grave danger!    Here’s my tete d’ tete.   

I should have jumped on his back and taken a ride!  

That just looks like they had me cornered, I slipped out from behind.     I have had more crane encounters than I care to count,  and I have never ever tried to go after one of their babies either, I have standards. ROAR – I’M RINGO!

As for inertia – I am guilty from time to time, but Frankie is so much better at it… 

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Entry One –  Cat Hurl is Only Green Art

industrial gags
wide mouth and toothy
hurling out
sloshy swill
down the inside path of the human’s couch

it’s beautiful the way my puke
glistens in it’s alchemy
grass and
fish guts
infused with the hairs of past winter’s coat
bundled like a hairy sausage
the package slides down
smooth as rancid spumoni

i watch my cat-chum wrap
pass along the arm and
settle calmly upon the cushion
grass and fish scale confetti
a fine collage of dadaism
it will dry
long before the human arrives
the sheen will be lost
the colors  might fade
but the smell will only ripen
the aroma will acquaint
the human
to it’s latest work
of cat art

i call it a ‘ringo pollack’
cuz of the fish
and i’m using natural materials
to produce
a collage
and lasting  visual imprint
upon fine suede just for my human

and i will wait by the door
for the sound of the key
and run out as ferlinghetti should have said
the ‘cat’ trots freely in the street

by and by i will come back
to be fed
and petted
and possibly chastised
then forgiven
my work of felinese art scrubbed clean (again)
these humans –
every one of thems a lousy critic…


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ROAR – I’M RINGO AND I’LL BITE!   My person has been away 9 days, like I care! Her son Adam has been feeding me, even tries to pet me, I love biting him, his scrunched up face upon teeth impact makes it all  worth while!  I miss Abbe not being here to fish, so tonight when she got out the tackle box and came to the lake.  I was right there waiting. She took out that Glove thing and gave me a nice massage,   I have to admit, that  rubdown felt great, my winter hair is shedding.  Then I sat down near her rod and watched the bobber.  Not much happening and then the bobber sunk and she caught a turtle, a big soft shell. She pulled it in and took the hook out, the slimy oaf looked funny and  stayed on his back till he finally figured out he was free to go.   Those reptiles are worthless, if I get near one, the head hides inside the shell, what fun is it to tease something that won’t even look at you?    It took a while till she landed a shiner,  damn she is slow,  her other kid, Aaron, now he knows how to throw a cast net and then I don’t have to wait for anything!   I don’t think Abbe even holds her rod right, Aaron says she holds it upside down.
Luckily the herons weren’t around.  I grabbed the fish and walked away in case one of those big birds decided to claim it. I might be, RINGO, but I know better than to mess with a beak a foot long!  –I impaled that shiner and ate every last bone except the ugly head,  it was a personal rather ironic statement to leave that vacant eyed, staring fish face looking at the water, ha ha, ROAR – I’M RINGO!
Abbe caught a bream too, but threw it back, what a dumbass, she could have given me a second helping!  Why does she fish anyway? She never  eats anything she catches, it makes no sense, or as stated by Edgar Watson Howe,
Fishing seems to be the favorite form of loafing.”  I’ll give her that! – Hey, I know these things because she quotes them out loud to herself at the lake.
Why do humans talk to themselves like that anyway?
Later that night I admit, I did go inside, but only to eat and get a few pets, I hate being caged and being inside is like that, so I only stay a few hours to give Abbe some cat-is-faction! Because ROAR – I’M RINGO.

Okay, she did take pictures of me,     but you throw me a fish, and I’ll let you take pictures of me too.   ROAR- I’M RINGO…

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