Crowley

Earlier today, when I was going through some shoeboxes of old photos, I stumbled on this picture; the only one I have of Crowley. Crowley was a cat I had at around the turn of the century. Of all the cats I have had, or ever will have, I think Crowley caused the most problems. Of course, each of my cats had its own way of being bothersome. EVERY single cat has its own way of being bothersome. Crowley's way however was quite unique.

He was very much interested in the occult. He dabbled a bit in the black arts, channeled spirits and all that occult jazz. Contrary to most other adepts, however, Crowley was truly adept. You could even say he was quite skilled in more than one field! I still cherish his annotated edition of P.B. Randolph's Magia Sexualis and use it quite often to replenish my life's forces and for pleasure.

But cats will be cats and as such have quite a short attention span. Crowley was no exception. About every other week he summoned some lesser demon from some pit of Hell and had quickly become disinterested in his obedience. So, there I was, every other week, doing my best to return some strange and dangerous creature from whence it came, and stop it from destroying property and hurting the neighbours. And Crowley? Well, he didn't care about the efforts I had to go through just to prevent him from becoming a set of strings for the violoncello.

I did manage keep him from being slaughtered. He lived a rather long life for a cat, dying in 1965 from old age. I can't say he ever actually left me, though, his ghost still haunts the halls of my estate, scaring mice and men into mortal heartattacks. Annoying at times, but at least he's cheaper to keep.