Newt Dewey

Well, the world lost another one today.

When I was nine years old, my uncle beat the crap out of me. We’d been wrestling and he was winning (because he was nineteen) and as I knelt at his feet, my hands behind my back, I spit on him.

And he lost it, cause, well, gross.

But the point was, I was trying to be Princess Leia. Cause she didn’t take shit from no one, and she never admitted defeat.

I’m sorry I don’t know who took the picture to the left–it was captured from Twitter and put online and I’d give credit if I could.  I know that Tee-Spring used to sell the T-shirts and the big sticker, and they’re trying for a reboot.

It’s just that Carrie Fisher represented something amazing. She was beautiful, and tiny, and she got to fire a laser blaster and ride the super zoom cycle.  In real life she was blunt, she was funny, and she was fearless.

She had no problem admitting her helpless love for her dog, and she faced everything from drug addiction to bipolar with a “Fuck this imperialist bullshit” smile and a zero-fucks-to-give attitude.

I loved her, as much for her off-screen advocacy as for her onscreen persona.

Yeah– this year has sucked. A lot of celebrities have just bailed off this fucking mortal coil–but this was the one that made me throw my hands in the air and cry.  (Okay, Bowie too. And Rickman. And Prince. And George Michael. And fuck me, this fuckin’ year.)

My friend Julie and I were rabid Star Wars fans–I’m pretty sure we saw the third movie together, and if we didn’t, well, we should have. We were on Facebook together when the news broke, and for a moment the years fell away, and we were the geeky high school students who wanted to be Princess Leia.

I was the embattled nine year old who thought I already was.

Carrie, I know you’re out there because this death thing is bullshit as far as you’re concerned and you’ve got people to look after. You don’t know me from a bright spot in the night, but I miss you in this world. So do a lot of people. You did so much good, you’ll never know.


Okay, some happy now.

The big kids got cats in December. Big T got a black cat that he named Kiarostami after his favorite director, and Chicken got Dewey, that she named after the youngest (second youngest by the end of the show) boy in Malcolm in the Middle.

Anyway–Chicken’s OTHER cat, Mrs. Poopy Bottom kept beating the hell out of poor Dewey, so both kids made Dewey their Christmas present to ZoomBoy.

ZoomBoy loves him–and he plays like no kitten I’ve ever had. He’s also one of those cats who loses all body coherence once you pick him up–it’s AMAZING.

But I keep forgetting to call him Dewey. For one thing, my friend has a cat named Dewey, and this cat looks nothing like him.

For another, my OTHER friend USED to have a cat named NEWT. And this cat looks EXACTLY like Newt. Now, Newt was named after the character in Aliens 2, the little girl who didn’t talk, and this cat is very silent too.  But the kids want his name to be Dewey.

So I call him Newt Dewey–because it rhymes, and it’s cute, and I can’t remember to say Dewey until after I say Newt.

And he really does have a sweet little angel baby face.

And he’s a welcome addition to the fur-baby family.

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