A year after ’Montana’, I’m dodging the draft by doing the graduate school thing in Iowa City. The search for my father appears to be gone. The urge hasn’t happened & I feel like I might finally be moving forward. I move in with Janice Gould, a vibrant, abstract-expressionistic painter—it’s platonic—we’re sharing a flat. I’m in the upstairs loft, next to the bathroom, which is painted all glossy-white. Janice’s paintings are every-where down-stairs, but not in that goddamn white bathroom.
Janice had two fluffy, white, spoiled, brother n’ sister cats named Bonnie & Clyde.
Anyhoo—everything’s fine about the whole gig, except for the way she mis-treated Bonnie and favored Clyde—She would literally cook steak for Clyde & prepare it in his jade bowl—& Bonnie?—She got a few crumbs of cheap-ass dry food whenever Janice remembered.
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Clyde? Well, Clyde was unusually beefy for a cat. He was about the size of a small sheep dog, glistening, white coat, very sharp teeth & claws. He slept in the bathtub. Sometimes he was protective of Bonnie, but he never let her partake in his steak, and neither did Janice. He never meowed—he only growled, he kept his head down & never looked up at me & I never looked down at him. We both seemed to tacitly agree to deny each other’s existence.
So, on an unusually warm, early April Saturday night, we decided to throw a party. Well, long story short—it was my 22nd birth-day & I was depressed —so, I took a tab of “blue cheer’ acid—but it didn’t work fast enough—so, I took another. Then I still felt normal shitty, so I took another—& then Janice’s paintings started spinning on the walls.
I looked around to see if anyone-else was seeing what I was seeing and oh!! So many colors flailing about!! —the small living room is turning bodies in space, weightless—then I think we’re not on earth anymore. The paintings are flying away and I’m dodging them &— a high E-flat from a Coltrane-Tune gets extended in time as Clyde makes his entrance; majestically sliding down the banister-rail in perfect time with the tune. He lands regally with his haunches on the bulb of the banister. He regards me with a glittering 1000-yard stare. I return the challenge. Everything freezes, but Clyde & Me. I hear Bonnie crying in the distance. But—no— I must face Clyde down once & for all.
Then he looks away—but I don’t. I keep staring stead-fast—he runs up & down the banister—the saxophone on the record follows him—E-flat, down to B-flat-down to F—back & forth—& up & down—he looks—he looks away, he runs—he looks —he looks away—everything is picking up speed & swirling faster & faster—& Clyde is growing & his growling is louder & the peripheral’s occupants are talking about ‘Claymation’?! Then there’s a choral gasp that nearly makes me deaf & Clyde has leapt from the banister railing. He is gaining in size & weight & fang & claw length as he, frame by frame closes the 12-foot distance between the banister & my face—
He'd grown and evolved into a 600 lb. Snow-white Leopard from the Himalayas. This was no legend, this was no mythic, mystical beast; THIS WAS REAL! This was no fun at all—
He has his fore-claws firmly imbedded into the nape of my neck and his aft-claws dug into my collarbone, one on either side. I can’t tell my screams from his shrieks, and then I’m standing on the couch and Clyde is back on the banister, trotting away and getting smaller as he goes. He radiates white light as he jumps to his throne on the bulb—then!—He’s gone. I look around. Everyone’s gone. Everything’s gone. The room is empty. I’m floating in a world of white light.
For the next hour or so, I sit on the couch waiting for Clyde’s inevitable return. People float back into the room like a parade of clowns. I feel their eyes on me as they pass. I watch the party go on like I wasn’t there—because I wasn’t. I had just survived an attack from a Snow Leopard. I was in Tibet.
Then, as clear as a bell I hear Clyde.
Bob. You know where I am. I’m in my office, my place of residence. I am in the bathtub, Bob.
What the fuck—
Careful, now—Just join me here.
I flew up the stairs like a memory-’Bob-‘ the white on white-‘You know where I am’-the sea of light-‘Get up here’-the pounding bass that was my heart-beat playing through the skin in my inner-ear—The white bathroom was dazzling. All the lights were on & the electricity pounded a high-pitched symphony.
Don’t stand there—Get in the tub, Robert—take your shoes off & get into the tub.
There’s no water—
Are you kidding me? I hate water—Now, sit down —& quit breathing heavy. You’re looking like prey, Robert. Look at me. In the eyes—both of them, not just one. You see intelligence, yes?
Yes-
-You can understand me; you can hear me; we are communicating, yes?
—Correct—
Well, Bobby—you owe me an apology—
Yeah—you’re a spoiled piece of shit—
You have no idea! You should have seen me before—Opulence—?! God, you have no idea…But, that was another lifetime—way before all this pussy stuff—Yes—another lifetime— I thought you knew about all this—
Well—
Stop. I just felt your question before you could think it—& the answer is, so far, all the other cats I’ve met have been ‘around the block’ before. But I haven’t been a pussy that long—only 12 years—your time—That’s 60 years in mine. Time; It’s really all in how you read it. That’s why we pussies sleep so much—because we’ve all been here before, in one way or another—what ‘d you say? Fuck no—Are you kidding me?—we remember our past— and that’s not always so cool. It’s frustrating, dealing with you all—knowing what we know.
—wait—hold on—I can’t take this—I thought—
It’s just a drug, Robert—It’ll pass—But I won’t.
-wattdyamean—?
This moment—us like this—will stay with you forever. Everything is connected—you’ll figure it out—& you need a wake-up call—I speak for the universe—Also, you owe me an apology—
—you drew blood—
I didn’t start it—You know better than to stare into a cat’s eye—
—probably have to get a tetanus shot—
Don’t be absurd—I clean myself all the time—More than you do, that’s for sure—
It was all there, and I saw my Dad, somehow. I knew that for certain, and I hope to God, you know what I mean?! We shared our past lives in an instant. I learned the unity lesson once again, and it was Clyde’s duty to repeat the lesson—‘So let it be written, So let it be done’—
I apologized Clyde accepted.
I’ll see you later, Bob, and We’ll talk this way again—In another life.
Wait—!!
WAIT!—wait—I’m covered in whiteness? Clyde has shed himself onto me. I get out of the tub. I walk down-stairs. They’re all saying something, but I don’t understand—What is…birth? What is “coming’ & ‘Going’ ? What is ‘outside’? ‘Day’? ‘Night’?
I laughed when people said these things—their mouths got so wide—& they all had very large, white teeth—& they all looked hungry. I laughed when they said that they were ‘going’ ‘Somewhere’ & hugged & said “Good-by’ They were no longer words, they were just sounds.
People turned this golden knob in the wall & then they would disappear into a dark hole—but then they would re-appear again. ’Outside’? There was no such thing.
Janice, who was an abstract self-portrait; got me past the door-knob & into the dark hallway. There were people coming & going—it was like World War One—chaos, fear, loathing.
I step out from underneath the porch & I see the firmament: the moon & stars for the first time.
And I hear Clyde: “so let it be written, so let it be done”.
Gravity drops me to my knees. My eyes are flooded with tears & wonder & I hear my own voice, “Sky—SKY” as I looked into it and learned it.
I spent the rest of the morning with Janice going up & down the block, and I recovered language & history & personality—I put my life back together in a few hours. I had found him, I guess. Or
I hadn’t—not one bit? I’ll never stop looking over my shoulder; I’ll never stop wondering—?
--We walk into the kitchen & Clyde is at his jade breakfast bowl &, for a moment, he is once again that huge, growling supreme tiger. Then Bonnie & Clyde become one & they eat from the same bowl. They turn to me & lick their lips & they smile. Then, from deep inside, I hear them say---
Remember, Remember.
