In the last few months, Sambora confided in me her final wishes. Over the course of many private conversations, Sambora indicated that she wanted to be placed in stasis until such a time when a cure for old age can be found. I readily agreed to her plan.
Sambora’s head was surgically removed from her body and packed in dry ice. A drone whisked her from Portland to a cryogenic facility in Scottsdale, Arizona. She was scientifically placed in a head-sized jar and cooled to -196°C. There she will wait in suspended animation.
The future will bring many good things, including cures for every conceivable ailment. 100-500 years from now, Sambora’s head will be removed from its jar, placed on a robot body and brought back to life. Sambora will pick up right where she left off, meowing and sitting and walking and licking. Isis and I will be right there with her, our heads mounted on robot bodies of our own. In the future, almost everything will have a robot body.
Sambora died last Friday. She was with Isis thirteen years (a lucky number for a black cat); I had the great fortune to know her for nearly a decade. She will go down in history as one of the Great Cats. A game-changer.
Sambora was the model for Carver’s face. She also helped me draw Falling Rock, rubbing her face on my pens as she sat on my lap. Sometimes she’d make a suggestion, tell me to tweak a punchline or alter an awkwardly-worded phrase. She was always right. Other times she’d merely sit on the armrest of my chair, gazing out the window at the birds she’d undoubtedly love to destroy.
Sambora, the cat I live with, agrees with the late President Ronald Reagan not one bit. Seriously: foreign policy, the national debt, military spending. Sambora is Reagan’s political opposite.
On this hundredth anniversary of the old coot’s birth, Sambora and I both mourn the fact that neither of us were able to vote against him.
We take consolation that we’ll be able to vote for at least two Obamas.
Every weekend my lovely wife Isis and I sit down to watch Project Runway. We make our own decisions as to who made the best and worst design that week. Well, Isis critiques; I provide “color commentary” a la Fred Willard’s character in Best in Show. Non sequiturs, inappropriate jokes, completely bogus questions. Really, it’s amazing my wife puts up with me.
Anyway, the one thing we’ve both come to agree upon is that Michael Kors has got to go. Unlike Tim Gunn, who makes positive suggestions to the contestants, and Nina Garcia, who at least attempts to highlight both positive and negative aspects of each design, Kors acts as the resident curmudgeon, doling out insults with the verve of a man who is belatedly lashing out at his high school tormentors.
The question is, who can replace Michael Kors? Who can possibly replace the great Michael Kors? We at Falling Rock have compiled a list of names for the producers of Project Runway to consider.
Seen here in 1986, “The Boss” obviously knows fashion. He lives fashion every day of his awesome, awesome life. He’ll give bonus points to designers who include, in their descriptions of their pieces, the phrase “this dress will allow the wearer to bust out of this nowhere town, go down that hard road, and find the light.” Right on.
Rourke, in The Wrestler, bought his college-age daughter a bright green windbreaker with a “S” on the front. (Her name was Stephanie.) This alone puts him in the top echelons of fashion.
Sambora the cat.
Though our cat has never worn a stitch of clothing in her life, Sambora has a highly developed fashion sense. If by “fashion sense” you mean “thick coat of fur.” She did design a successful line of ripped-leg pants, of which me and my wife are the sole owners. She is not declawed.
So there you go, Project Runway. Take this blogger’s suggestions and run with them. I can’t speak for Mssrs Springsteen and Rourke, but Sambora’s schedule is wide open. You would, however, have to work around the 23 hours per day that she is asleep.
This month our household celebrates a very special anniversary. 10 years ago this month, A. adopted our cat, Sambora.
Sambora (seen here in a file photo) has lived with my wife longer than I have, making me the interloper. Yet somehow I have been welcomed into the household, mostly by the cat but also, to a slightly lesser extent, by my wife.
There have been a number of milestones in Sambora’s life with A. A few of them, for your reading pleasure:
When A. first adopted Sambora, the cat came down with a little cold. This required A. to give Sambora medicine. Have you ever given a cat medicine? You have to sit on the cat, wrench its mouth open, jam a dropper into the cat’s mouth and dispense a few drops of liquid. This, according to the vet, will make the cat feel better. For better or worse, A. has said this was the time in which she first bonded with the cat.
Sambora used to live in an apartment with a balcony. There was a little cat door so she could sit outside on the balcony. This balcony twice became the scene to grisly bird murders. We’re not saying who the murderer was, but once A. came home to find part of a bird carcass inserted into the VHS player (presumably for safekeeping). Is it possible for a murderer to return to the scene of the crime if she never really left it?
The Ballad of Amazing Larry. This occurred when I was living with A. and Sambora.
Most recently, of course, was the journey Sambora (along with the two of us) made from the high desert of Colorado to the low wetlands of Oregon. Sambora, to her credit, did most of the driving, all hopped up on organic espresso and amphetamine sulphate. She was our Neal Cassady.
These days Sambora can usually be found in the big window overlooking the neighborhood street or curled up asleep on the bed. Don’t be fooled by this bucolic setting, however; Sambora lives life hard and fast. As another Neil once said: “Hey hey my my, rock and roll can never die.” He was singing about Sambora the cat.
Today’s Robots are dedicated to a very brave cat who had to visit the Kitty ER Wednesday night. The robot carrying the cat is based on a strange-looking litter box that you can really buy. I don’t know a single cat who would want to use this litter box, but it at least makes for a good robot, proving that nothing in this world is completely useless.