Now come the story of the great White Fang. . . .a fitting name for an East Bay cat. Jack London wrote about the half-wolf/half-dog, and White Fang lived not far the statue of his namesake at Jack London Square in the Port of Oakland.
And he was a practical cat in the spirit of the great T.S. Eliot’s (Opossum’s Book of Practical Cats) kitty characters of literary, song and dance fame.
He operated the love bank until September 12, 2010, and was always available for deposits and withdrawals.
Now come the story of the great White Fang. . . .a fitting name for an East Bay cat. Jack London wrote about the half-wolf/half-dog, and White Fang lived not far the statue of his namesake at Jack London Square in the Port of Oakland.
The day we met, he looked a little scuffed up, maybe from run in with another cat. I introduced myself and asked about his well being, to which he responded, “I don’t need you, and you don’t look too good nor talk too wise yourself.” I had to be impressed. Here was a kitty citing Kipling on what was obviously not one of his best days.
We don’t know how old White Fang is because he wouldn’t tell us. When his mommy-person, Carolyn Fang-Ma rescued him about 17 ears ago and he was already an adult cat. He operated the love bank until September 12, 2010, and was always available for deposits and withdrawals. Kitties don’t mind being woken up for affection. They wake us up for food.
White Fang was of the Turkish Van breed, which comes from the Himalayans and Persians. He exhibited some of the same dog-like instincts that Himalayans do: following someone from room to room, scratching at the door, and “asking” for what he wants.
I enjoyed joint custody of White Fang, though he didn’t live with me. He lived with his Carolyn Fang-Ma, who was my long-term, part-time girlfriend, or something like that. We get along and shared the love of this wonderful kitty, and remain close. He called her “mommy.”
5 years ago, White Fang made the transition from outdoor/indoor to indoor kitty, He was ready to retire from scuffles with younger cats when his mommy moved to a new home with a 2nd floor balcony.
“Love Supreme” is a supremely spiritual musical piece by John Coltrane that refers to love and worship of a diety. Like most good kitties, White Fang loved good jazz – his preferred programming when he was left alone was radio station KCSM, the Bay Area’s Jazz Station. Cats and dogs need music for companionship when they’re alone for more than a few of hours. They’re much happier. And they like music better than talking heads, particularly jazz, blues and rock ‘n’ roll. The meditative elements of Coltrane’s music was well-suited to him; he also liked Louis Armstrong, Billie Holiday and most of the jazz and blues greats. He was a kitty of elegant and refined tastes. And he was a practical cat in the spirit of the great T.S. Eliot’s (Opossum’s Book of Practical Cats) kitty characters of literary, song and dance fame.
Like many practical cats White Fang was known for his early morning galley-romping in the form of the circles he ran around the apartment. This served as his "constitutional" according to the magical formula of five minutes of aerobics for every 25 hrs of sleep. Until 2004, he also enjoyed the great outdoors. His move to a 2nd floor apartment protected this aging wonder from the other cats, 'coons, and 'possums. He still enjoyed the great outdoors, but from a well-planted balcony, which enabled him to let down his guard even more than before.
And like many practical cats, White Fang presented various models manifesting hallmark-cards moments of super-saturate-sweetness: the adoring kitten-face tilted head ovoid mug smile spreading like a satisfied low tide at evening sunset. He even learned to work it for a laugh, but more often he learned to work his people to let their guard down and just feeeeeeel it!
White Fang’s kitty-boxing skills were legendary and captured on a You-tube video. There are few more fun things in this world than batting paws with a kitty. It was posted during his run for Governor of California in the year before his passing. He had a following on Facebook too.
Then there was the wooguss, tree-sloth -like hugging of human limb by all four cat limbs, one of the supreme displays of affection and/or playfulness. One of his best moves was the cat-heart-to-human-heart transmission of purrvibrato, the filling station of divine nectar. This inspires the hope to see the inner cat in every one--even the humans who piss us off.
The roll-over twisty-head routine is an endearing staple of most practical cats, leading to the full-belly rub, the play-fights, and kitty-boxing. This might be followed or preceeded by the near-orgasmic kitty-revelry of sniffing inside of shoes or gardening-boxes.
He leaves behind imagery of the furr, the purr, the leaping-heart-paws bounding over our resting bodies - the cat-butt-in-the-face, the kneading claws, the demanding meeYOWs, the hairballs, the stray white hairs territorially marking our darker clothing, the claw marks on the doors, the dispersal of food particles all over the floor in the unstinting demand for the perfect nugget of freshest kibble...Ay yi yi yiii, all worth it. The flicking of the tail, the swaying lateral undulations, the plush plush fur, the kittenface /wise old man mix. He could shapeshift with the subtlest wink of a facial muscle.
White Fang’s love of fine jazz and of reading any book he could work his way into made him exceptionally practical.
Ever feel what it’s like between a kitty’s toes? Massaging his feet; feeling the ripe-grape tender firmness of each of his toes, amid the ridiculously long hair growing between each pad Then there was the swampy stankin dead-fish breath, which leaves one wondering how it could emanate from such a sweet countenance! He endured bad haircuts as his mommy desperately tried to keep fleas, burrs, and hairballs at bay.
As an outdoor cat he took his lumps, including a death-grip fight he had with the 14-pounder alpha cat. Fang-Ma recalls, “I heard hellacious cat-screamings and stepped out to look. They were stalking each other from atop the peak of the roof line, then locked jaws around each others' necks and tumbled 4.5 stories down into the defiled excuse for a courtyard where we lived. The fall broke their grips, but their chase resumed the second they hit the ground. There was a trail of blood drops, which I followed in due anxiety, but once I realized it was just a nick in his ear I burst out laughing. I was finally able to grab him around the belly and haul his caterwauling badass self back indoors, which only annoyed him more. He seemed to be wailing, ‘Now everyones gonna’ think I’m a momma's boy who can't finish a good fight.’
Most of the time I tried to let him be as much of a nature-boy as I could stand, especially because trips to the vet were so traumatic for both us. I did have to intervene against a tribe of opposum who were raiding his food and scaring him away from his cat door.” They got way too comfortable in that neighborhood and sometimes we’d find them indoors.
White Fang, State Cat of California and for gubernatorial candidate has gone on --bounded ahead--leaped off tall buildings---to join Elvis, Jesus, and galaxies of souls. A few friends are saying that cat couldn't have asked for a more loving set of friends and hosts, which is kind and fair. We did bust ass for him mostly within reason, but occasionally beyond reason. We gave him a wonderful life after his prior owners who abandoned him. Fangs for the memories...
To all who know or imagine the beyond-human bonding that comes with looking a pet in the eyes, if you can't have a pet, sometimes a human will do.
Reality & Dynamics of Losing a Beloved Kitty
As White Fang was nearing the end of his sweet life, I tried to spend as much time with him to offer comfort, companionship and some fun and games. In the last weeks, he always greeted me with calls of impatience like, “Where have you been.” I couldn’t do enough.
I had always assumed that he’d choose a convenient time to go out, so that we could summon a vet and give him the big Phenobarbital shot to ease him on out, while one of us was holding him. No such luck. He passed during the night, and I received the sad news in a voice mail from Fang-Ma. But not before he told me goodbye. As I was waking up on September 12 last year, I heard White Fang’s voice telling me goodbye. . . for real. I was awakened by what sounded like a live kitty in the bedroom. But it was really White Fang calling out from the other side to say goodbye and thank you. I felt badly about not being there to tell him goodbye, but he reached out to me on the way out.
Carolyn Fang-Ma remembers, “At the very very end, White Fang most wanted was to be left alone. I left his side briefly to get the cat carrier box in case his seizure would become prolonged....when i returned from the back deck 15 feet away, our beloved animal's twitching breathless sufferings had ceased. The regret of not having a dose of Phenobarbital was mitigated by the fact that he suffered much less than most animals do, and he had a quiet, peaceful exit.
I had read something about letting dying pets know they're free to go when it's their time: not obligated to hang on in order to keep their pet people engaged. It was the "I love you SO much,.and I understand if you need to check out...I release you ...." conversation.
He had been such a sweet enabler of naps and downtimes for so many hours and days and years. By 3 a.m. at last, someone got relief. it wasn't me. White Fang surrendered to the deepest rest on earth, and I had to surrender all woulda-coulda-shoulda's , wishes and moot prayers dustbagging around in the vacuum of my head.
White Fang knew all about how to care for his people, yet he also knew how he hadda do what he hadda do. I told White Fang’s spirit, “Just in case you were entangled one last ether-claw in the blanket of that life we shared just a bit above ground, I fully release you to your cat spirit commune. Your body is below ground; your soul free to fly around, visit us as you like but not be tied down.”
Carolyn remembers: “On our last day together--when it became undeniable it really was to be his last, I tried distraction. No more to fear about letting him into the yard and garden; what worse could happen than his slow and painful demise that was already underway?[ With shadows casting on the breezyness of summer, his legs wobbled, his balance was upset, but he was clearly in joy at the scents from alll directions. "Ahh, the sun in my whiskers," he smiled. "Skin cancer, hah! tell cancer to Fuck off, I'm FINE, dammit!”
So this ball of furry logic grabbed life (and death) by all four paws and let go when he felt like it. He was of course special, unique, and unsurpassed in all our experience of all other cats. And. yet...he was...after all...just another cat, taking orders from kitty-central, a satellite on earth beaming randomly scrambled orders manifesting as kitty mood-swings.
The funeral procession was a tidy and intimate affair with Scott, Fang-Ma and Gentleman Jeff who furnished some of the materials for the sad task at hand. Scott said Kaddish and everyone took turns covering the grave that Carolyn dug and Scott roughed out. After the burial, Fang-Ma lingered pruning a shrub, scattering the boughs, letting the sun bake her. After all, the White Fang Memorial Garden was being birthed. Blackberry vines were pulled over the grave to serve as nature’s razor wire.
Did the ancient Egyptians bury their dead head facing east or west? Did the Native Americans bury their dead head facing north or south?
Fang the fanguru, fango mango puddin punkin tango, messenger of the earth, gone back underground...and now he guides me from Kitty Central to get rid of the piles of clothes he no longer needs to sleep on. Scratched around the ears…the throat...and oh, oh oh yesss, don't stop, don't stop,,, the upper chest so hard to reach by paws and tongue alone.
Some humans are honorary pets or savant animal liaisons. And there’s room for another statue in Jack London Square.
So just as White Fang visited me on his way out to say “Thank you, goodbye, I Love you,” he continues to haunt us on occasion, and is always invited to do so. Sometimes, I get woken up by Zoey, one of the kitties in my house. Other times I’ll be awakened by the sound of a “live” kitty voice, and it turns out to be White Fang checking in from the other side. What a kitty!