I believe I've mentioned before that my cat, Bonehead, can really take a punch. There's a reason for this. When he was just a young kitten, he used to ride the rails, hoboing, playing blues harp for food and a place to throw down for the night. He spent many years tramping around the South, played standup bass for Muddy Waters for a while, but got addicted to heroin and couldn't keep a gig. One night in a drunken haze, he and Jack Kerouac, stole a car, picked up two fifteen year old prostitutes in Kansas City, and headed west. He lost Jack on the road when he stopped to buy a nickle balloon and forgot to come back. Many of these adventures were chronicled in Jack's diaries, though Jack takes undue credit for some of Boner's more creative moves.

He ended up in San Francisco, working the bathhouses for a living until he was shanghied into China. Actually there are a couple of explanations for his Chinese period: Some say he may have gone there to begin fomenting revolution over human rights violations. There is some evidence to support this in the Congressional Record. It is also rumored that he went to star in porn films for John Woo in the early years. Yet another story claims that he went there to kick his heroin addiction. Wherever the truth lies, his story really begins with the Dali Lama.

He was washing dishes in a Shanghai whorehouse, when he met the boy who would eventually become the man known as the Dali Lama. Little did he know that this chance petting would later save his life. He traded in his white cap and apron for saffron robes and a shaved pate. After a year spent in deep meditation and spiritual examination, he emerged, a new cat...stronger, yet gentler, focused and in control of his destiny. He had a message and that message was, "Racial Harmony."

Returning to the States, he tried to bring his message to his native land. For a time, he grew disillusioned with White America, and retreated to the Badlands of Montana where he studied Native medicine and spirituality. It was there, on a dream quest, that he learned his spirit animal was a cat. He was brought before the elders and given his name, "He Who Has Head of Bone" and it was written into the tribal records. He endured the Sun Dance ceremony...six nipples pierced and hung from a pole. He walked with his ancestors, then, and became whole once more.

Free of addiction and finally with his head on straight, he wrote his first novel . We all know it was a best seller but there was more to it than that for him. He felt as though he was finally getting his shot at speaking to a broad audience. Sadly, though sales were high, little came of it aside from a few talk shows and an inclusion in "People" magazine's year end, "Fifty most beautiful People" issue.

There are several long periods of time in his lives which are unaccounted for. Bob Dylan mentions him in the liner notes to "Highway 61 Revisited" and I don't doubt his influence on the man (though neither one could sing for shit). There are bootleg tapes of an unreleased album with Bone, John Lennon, and Harry Nilsson. He jammed with Miles Davis at the Newport Pop Festival one year, and was later reported to have substituted for Bob Weir on the Grateful Dead's '78 tour.

Touring with the Dead was a constant trial for him. Resisting heroin was not his strong point. He left the tour as soon as Weir's hand healed and was once more on the road.

He moved to Santa Fe and joined the Free Mexican Air Force, running reefer up from Guadalajara. He was never meant to live the straight life and he knew it. That's how I met him. He dropped a kilo on me from two hundred and fifty feet and almost killed me. He visited me in the hospital. He was a good cat. I forgave him...after all, he let me keep the key.

He's been "my" cat off an on now for the last eight years. I dunno, we just sort of..clicked. He lost his plane to Carlos Medina (El Coyote) and needed a place to hole up. I told him he could stay here. He's a tough cat, a sensitive cat, a...great lover and a stalwart friend. He can take a fall from great heights, he can roll with a punch...but he STILL can't play poker for shit!

-- Reverend Mutha Tarla, Little Sisters of the Perpetually Juicy, A Proud Jism Schism of the Church of the SubGenius, Worshipping "Connie" Dobbs and Juicy Retardo since 1986

(from alt.slack, 1/27/96)