A New Yorker Rises From The Kitty Litter
Henry hopped down onto the ground next to Rembrandt and bounced around with glee. “Yeah it is always to see you to Henry. Yo I still got your guitar, D.J. equipment, turn tables, speakers, wires, and records and whole set. It is my back pack in the usual place.” Rembrandt said.
Francine looks at Rembrandt with a peculiar gaze. “I am sure that you have not missed the fact that I am a cat. So why does it seem that you are not even a little fearful about that?” Francine asked. Henry stops hopping and Rembrandt gives him a look while he laughs. “I don’t do negative energy feline. I have dealt and still deal with all kinds. I even know an old owl that plays bass and we have a jam session from time to time. Being afraid is not my thing. I am from New York and I am the king.” Rembrandt said.
“That’s interesting. You still didn’t answer the question.” Francine said. “You want me to be afraid. That’s natural. Maybe because that’s your thing. Taking that into consideration is the only reason I am not offended. I and old Henry have been in the Navy and Delta too. I am about family, but with all this talk I will be sure to never turn my back to you. It’s still all love.” Rembrandt said.
“She needs a flute. She says that is her sound. What do you think? Is she going to be around?” Henry asked. Francine didn’t want Rembrandt’s first impression of her to be so poor, but what’s done is done. Rembrandt looks at Francine with an examining gaze. “Yeah maybe. First thing we have to do is show her around. Take her to a few jam sessions to feed the true sound that is down in her feline bones. After that it won’t matter if she knows how to play the flute, or not…it will be like it plays on its own.” Rembrandt said.
“You’re in for a treat. Everybody knows Rembrandt. He is so sweet can even squeak you Debussy’s “Claire De Lune.” Henry said. Francine looks at Henry and irritably sighs. “Please give it a rest. I have been listening to your mess since we were in the Midwest. Rembrandt laughs while they head back toward the Subway. Henry broods while he hops back onto Francine. “I Like her Henry. Don’t brood. She just speaks her mind, but she’s not rude.” Rembrandt said.
Francine blushes the way cats do followed with a soft purr while something occurred to her. Rembrandt pauses for a moment while he goes out ahead of Francine despite what he had said. She knows that this means he trusts her. It occurs to her that Rembrandt is a pretty likable dude. More likable than simply just being food. Rembrandt knows all the ins and outs of the city. Rembrandt shows them the heartbeat of NYC.
They hitch a ride in a taxi cab without the driver ever knowing anything. The venture into Harlem and have it out with more than just a few of the rats. They find a jam session everywhere they go. Francine plays her own whiskers like Jimi Hendrix did the guitar. She mesmerizes her fellow felines like Elvis did the masses. Her style is eccentric and brilliant like Missy Elliot. She has an original sound like Chuck Barry.
She has a renowned pop sound. She pours her feline soul into that old wood flute and it seems like it strangely meows as it plays. She goes girl punk and rocks out like Pink. She sings feline R & B with an Alicia Keys style of melody. She bleeds out a Norah Jones kind of sound out of her sadness as she thinks about home. From old school to new she is a mixture that no one has ever seen. She meows the house down where ever they go each and every time. Day and night they are in the streets. All three of them become very well known in a short time.
Rembrandt introduces her to Lenny the Owl who is a cop. Lenny learned to play bass from the Broadway shows and symphony orchestra. They head to a jam session with him at a nearby spot in the subway. It is standing room only. An Australian Dingo drummer that is also a firefighter named joey happens by. He begins to play the drums. Lenny joins up with a homeless human playing the Saxophone for money.
Joey chimes in. Rembrandt is patting his foot and like an electric jolt he finds the rhythm of their beat. He breaks out the smallest baby Grand Piano you have ever seen. He begins to play it, but he’s not through. The music starts getting good to him and he adds a violin to their eccentric tune. Rembrandt feverishly goes back and forth between playing the piano and the violin at the same time. He does this until he is playing them at the same time.
The homeless man’s hat is full and over flowing onto the ground. It is so much money and change it looks like layers of wool blankets on the ground. “Yo how do I thank you guys? Here take a cut…no… then what? I used to be somebody and today I relived those days again. What’s the name of your band?” The homeless man asked.
Francine, Lenny, Joey, Rembrandt and Henry all looked at each other with a puzzling gaze. “A lot of whisker’s and a flea…a flea bite. How about this. Since you won’t take any other gift…you can call yourselves “The Whisker’s & A Flea Bite Band”. The homeless man said. All of them leave the homeless man as he stuffs money in every sock, sleeve, pocket and even under his skull cap. Rembrandt gets them into a Catilin Swift concert and into her dressing room.
She begins to give Rembrandt something, but stops. Francine can’t believe that Catilin knows Rembrandt and she is ecstatic beyond words. They get back onto what seems to be Rembrandt’s imaginarium and in moments they see Deyonce in a limo riding by around 59th & Lexington. She throws a variety of expensive cheeses in a little brown paper bags the size of a skittle out of the window.
Rembrandt quickly picks up the bags and tucks them away in his back pack. Francine tries to get out of the street, but Rembrandt is in a cheese fevered ramble.
He keeps getting in her incoming path. He fishes one of the bags out of his back pack. “Every day around this same time she does that. Will you look at this…that is 3,000 dollar Munster, Gorgonzola, Brie and Feta. Look at the blue veins! You see this! That is 10,000 dollar Cheddar!” Rembrandt exclaimed feverishly as he leads them out of busy traffic.
Rembrandt hitches a ride for all of them on a postal truck to Brooklyn. Periodically they switch postal trucks. They go to Bed-Stuy, Fulton Ave, Flat Bush down Ocean Ave and all around until he shows them everything. They ride the “A” heading to the Bronx, but they don’t stay long. They head back the other way on the subway rats railway and talk until they reach Queens.
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