Exene Weber: 1993-2007

>> Sunday, July 8, 2007


Goodnight, sweet Exene.

Remember when we first met at the pound? All the other kittens hissed at you when you walked by. You were an outcast, our little rebel, so we named you after a punk and a poet, Exene Cervenka.

You leapt out of the cat carrier and claimed our tiny garden apartment as your own. You were so confident, so bold, but I still worried when we left you alone with Klaus for the first time. Thankfully, you were still alive and unharmed when we returned from work, and thus began our 14-year life together.

Do you remember your lusty cravings before we spayed you? Remember howling at the windows and doors, spraying the furniture, and slinking in front of Klaus, hoping he might satisfy your desire for kitty sex and kittens? Poor Klaus -- at least he tried, right?

How many homes did we live in together? Six? From cold Chicago apartments with steam heaters that hissed and warmed you, to San Diego houses that fired your desire to sit in the sun. You were a steady comfort to us through each transition.

One day, you darted from one room to the next and growled at the window. We had just moved to San Diego. I followed you to the window and saw a tank -- a military tank -- travel down the 163 followed by a caravan of police cars. We would have missed that bizarre moment had it not been for you.

You may be surprised by one of my fondest memories of you. During the early kitty years, we’d been bad parents and forgot to clean your litter box. While we quietly watched TV, you jumped onto the coffee table, looked right at us, and pissed on it. You could be such a rebel! I loved your courage and your ability to clearly express yourself. You demonstrated your point and taught us to be better parents. For many reasons, we are better people because of your lessons.

Thanks for giving us such great stories. Thanks for looking out for all of us. Thanks for showing your concern when we cried and your disapproval when we yelled.

You were a great little girl -- our first --and we were lucky to have you. Sometime in the next few days, we’ll listen to Black Licorice by Grand Funk Railroad and think of you. Peace, beautiful girl.

(Oh -- one more thing before you go. Now that you know the answers to life’s important questions, how should we break the news to girls? They’re gonna miss you, and I’m not looking forward to telling them.)

Give Klaus a lick and a love nibble for us.

Much Love,

Your Earth-bound Human Family




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