The Non-Conformist Cult Radio Show 5/14/04 (A)

Where do I start today?

I’m happy about the rain that’s fallen. The grass was starting to creak when I step on it.

I’m NOT happy about my cat, Monroe. She is old. Her behavior is much like the other family cats just before their life card was being cashed in. She stands in the driveway and meows loudly for no apparent reason. I guess the aches and pains are a little much at times for the old girl. She can’t just pop open some Doan’s pills.



When I brought this up to my parents, we “ballparked” Monroe’s age to be somewhere around 19 years old. That’s pretty damn old for a cat, or so I’ve heard.

She first arrived at our house in the back of my father’s patrol car. He kept her in the trunk for safe keeping until he was relieved of patrol duty.

He found her at the Citgo station out on Highway 70, otherwise known as Burlington Road which is now within city limits. A young but developed kitten kept hanging around the corner of the Citgo’s entrance. She was a friendly bugger. My father was sure that she’d end up meat on the yellow line of Highway 70 before the sun set later that day. He promised himself that he’d stop by to see if she’d made it. It wouldn’t have been humane to carry her around all day in the trunk of his patrol car.

You know the rest of the story… She ended up with me. I wanted to name her “Ralph” after a character on Green Acres. But my sisters Pam and Tina protested loudly… “You can’t name this sweet thing Ralph!”

So I thought about it and the logical choice was Ralph’s last name… “Monroe”. Ralph Monroe, by the way, was a lady carpenter in the family business with her brother “Alf”.



I’ve been asked if I named her after Marilyn Monroe several times. I can’t imagine that, but I do know someone with a dog named “Audrey Grace” with respect towards those actresses.

And yes, if I ever have kids… They will be named after a Green Acres character.

Lots of cat owners get cats simply by chance and the randomness that life presents. Monroe even brought her own stray to our house. His name was Sparky… He was a weird and wonderfully neurotic cat.

Monroe is a very sweet little cat. She loves to be petted and she loves clawing the complete and utter crap out of you while you do it. And I find that annoying. She claws and claws. She digs and she tears. She’s lovingly ferocious. In the winter, I usually plop a blanket over my legs and let her ass go to town. Her purring will get so loud that you can hear it across the room.

It’s very painful to love Miss Mo’, but so worth it at times.

I don’t expect to see Mo’ every day. I’m surprised every time I see her alive and hanging ‘round the house. Because cats usually stroll off somewhere to die alone. You never really know for sure when you’ll see your cat for the last time… That is if your cat is an indoor/outdoor kinda feline like Miss Mo’.

I say that she’ll be the last cat in my life, but I don’t fully believe it. After all, those little nomads tend to find you on their journey instead of the other way around.