james the king

Last week I discovered that James, the first cat that was entirely mine, passed away from diabetes. James was a beautiful orange tabby with a perfectly round kitten face; it was the kind of face that remained kitten-like even when he was an adult cat. Always, whether as a kitten or cat, when closing in on James, he would let out a kind of kitten roar, accompanied by a rather grumpy expression. I believe I might have encouraged that behavior by inappropriately worshipping him when he was very young – always holding him up by his tummy and proclaiming him king of the jungle as he let out that same kitten roar as a response to being held up in the air and rotated.









Some of my friends have commented that it’s funny that my cat’s name was James, a name usually reserved for extremely pale, curly-haired boys from England. In reality James was given his name during my Britpop period of musical affection. So he was named after James, the Manchester band most popularly known for their song “Laid”. It was during those years that probably everything I owned was named after a rock star. A white Nissan 200SX named Thom after Thom Yorke, a cat named James after the band, a computer called Moz.













James was a curious little guy, well-loved by all who got to know him. As a kitten, he enjoyed carrides, often propping himself up by his front legs on the dashboard, checking out the Austin scenery as we drove around the block. Most mornings, during my college years, as I walked from my duplex apartment in West Campus to school, James walked me across the street and up to the second block before turning around and going back home. Oftentimes at the end of the day, I would find him hanging out with the fraternity boys who lived below my roommate and me.

If there was one thing he wanted, it was friendship. No matter the size of his potential friend or the possible danger they represented, James would attempt to be near and rub up against any creature, making friends with black labs 10 times larger than him, terribly ugly raccoons and frat boys. Once he brought to the door a bird in his mouth. Upon my opening the door, he opened his mouth to greet me with that usual kitten roar, at which point the little birdie flew away. He couldn’t even hurt a cat’s worst enemy: the bird.









James died just short of his 12th birthday. For two days I cried and regretted handing him over to my parents when my ex and I could no longer stand our congestion and itchy eyes in response to the daily ticks and critters that James carried home on his lovely orange fur.

But I know James is in a place now where his legs work just fine, rather than having his diabetes eat away at his muscles. His skin is immune to the numerous things that caused him to itch incessantly, no matter the amount of medications and washings he received. In that new place everybody accepts his offers of friendship. They all know that that little kitten roar is an exclamation of something he really is, a gentle master, not just something invented by someone who loved him.

Twelve years later I have stopped naming my possessions after rock stars. Well...children aren't possessions, are they? Because I think Belle and Sebastian would be adorable names for babies.

i'm a jesse lover

I found out recently that an old friend of mine from Harvard passed away a few weeks ago. Jesse was 30 and had pancreatic cancer. We hadn’t really kept in touch since leaving Harvard 7 years ago, but just the thought of such a fine human being such as Jesse not being around anymore is completely heartbreaking.

I have vivid dreams that I remember fairly clearly. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of one but if I lay back down and will the next part on, the story of my dream continues. Early this morning I dreamt that I saved a little boy’s life, over the course of a weekend, simply by playing him the most beautiful songs that my ITunes possesses. Belle & Sebastian, Camera Obscura, Magnetic Fields, Jens Lekman, Yo La Tengo, Nico, Bettye Lavette, Architecture in Helsinki, Neutral Milk Hotel, Elliot Smith, all comprised of the soundtrack to saving a life.

Imagine that, if music could really save a life that was slowing or quickly slipping away.

I imagine that as Jesse passed away with his mother by his side, he laid by the beach in Jamaica, taking in the view of the beach and the smell of the salty air. I don’t know what songs may have been playing recently or near him or what notes he had running through his weary mind. In my dreams, my soundtrack could bring Jesse back to Jamaica, to his family and to the things he loved to do.

However, this ability is only dreamt up, a weak consolation for all the things that I hope one day science and technology can really do. Or perhaps they can, one day, extract the magic of music and pump it directly into our bloodstreams, our spines, our synapses so that we can be made whole again.

Jesse passed away the day that he was to return to Massachusetts. I’m sure that he felt like Jamaica was home to him already. You can see it in the photos posted on the Facebook Jesse Lovers page. I’m sure that the soundtrack that saved his life comprised of the voices of his loved ones and maybe the beating of drums. And in my dreams, Yo La Tengo played for him, by his bedside, this song, and he put his feet firmly on the ground and walked forward.