Happy #Caturday! Here’s an #introductions post for Doots!
His official name is Odin. His litter mate is Thor.
Doots is a Lynx Point Siamese. His mom is a grey tabby, so his dad must’ve been a Siamese. He had feline herpes when they were found as babies, which caused him to lose an eye. 😭
Doots is sweet but spicy & opinionated. He gives head bumps and soft little trills to show affection.
He loves dubstep, yelling, & making biscuits.
Tiens, super, je viens de choper en flag les flics de ma ville qui mettent la sirène pour rentrer plus vite au commissariat.
Vous avez raison, on n'a que ça à faire de :
Flipper vous entendre, trouver vite un endroit où se ranger, flipper de se faire refaire une aile quand vous passez, flipper parce que vous avez failli percuter une autre bagnole.
Tout ça pour quelque secondes !
Et vous auriez verbalisé sans pitié si vous le constatiez de la part d'unE citoyenNE lambda 🤬 #AllCatsAreBeautiful
Ritual as resistance can take many shapes. (I increasingly could speak for hours about it, so feel free to invite me to your space to do so!)
Tonight, it came in the form of my “wandering Jew” ritual of taking a walk, which in turn became a lengthy walk+talk with my beloved friend Pavlos Stavropoulos via a phone call, which in turn revolved around us wrestling with what makes certain acts “anarchist” versus liberal as they helped flesh out ideas for a project I’ll be engaged in soon to get banned kids’ books with queer themes back into schools versus being burned, figuratively or literally (stay tuned!). And just when my friend supplied me with some “light bulb” moments for this forthcoming project, I realized I was surrounded by twilight—the queerly liminal time-space so sacred and pivotal for us Jews—and then guided by a plethora of stars.
Afterward, when I got back to my cat sit, my #AllCatsAreBeautiful temporary animal companion had stretched out on a blanket by my newly arrived @radicaljewishcalendar for the forthcoming year, 5784, which begins at twilight on this Friday’s Shabbat, which in turn feels like a doubling of the Shabbos’ invitation to act as if we’re already in “the world to come” during the ritual time-space we diasporic, community-without-state people have made for millennia now, guided by the moon and stars—ecosystems at odds with the Christo-fascist supremacy of calendars devised by popes and empires and capitalism.
“My” cat somehow flipped the calendar to the month of Shvat, when we’ll mark the first yahrzeit of forest defender Tortuguita, of blessed memory, and a week later, in what will feel the dead of winter, celebrate Tu b’Shvat, the new year of the trees, remembering in our bones that sap runs even when we can’t see it. For this evening, peeking ahead at Shvat, art by Beck turns the ritual of reclaiming 5784 years of our calendar into the resistance of “tikkun olam [mending the world] means defend the forest,” which I hope only strengthens our resolve to stick by the 61 folks now facing conspiracy charges for the “crimes” of solidarity, mutual aid, and rebellious love.