#fray the siamese cat | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ashleymichaelday · 1 year

Text

The Crazy Cat Lady

Ashley Michael Day

Margot Fitzgerald simply adored cats. In her twenties she never expected to become one of those "crazy cat ladies" who takes in any old waifs or strays, but the older she got, the less she liked people. Eventually she decided to cut the human race out of her life for good! Margot was now in her late seventies and found the company of her extensive number of feline 'fur babies' much more fulfilling.

She owned a small, dilapidated bungalow at the far end of a cul de sac. The garden had been neglected, allowing nature to ensnare it. Thick vines of ivy had climbed the walls smothering the brick work. Hedges of pine and prickly briars had enveloped the property giving it a wild, haunting facade.

Margot didn't receive any visitors and wouldn't welcome any if they came to call. She couldn't even entice the Samaritans to cross her fresh-hold. The odour of scent marking cats was so pungent, it would make them gag at the door. Margot had grown accustomed to the smell.

With her knotted grey locks, frayed cardigan, and gaunt appearance, the local children assumed she was a witch and kept their distance. They would point and snigger to each other when they saw her searching around the dustbins for one of her precious moggies. The nasty brats would sometimes throw stones and call her names. Not that she cared. But when one of their missiles had struck a harmless little tabby, Margot had lost her temper and chased them away. This had only added to the myth that she was trying to capture the local children and put them in her witch's cauldron to feed to her cats.

It was late October and Halloween was around the corner. Margot hated Halloween. The local children would pester her all night long. They would dare each other to knock at her door and then run away before she could answer it.

It was late afternoon and Margot was seated in her old dusty armchair, crocheting a colourful afghan shawl. A dozen of her felines were meowing around the room. One ginger kitten was playing with a ball of wool, unravelling it at her feet.

Margot was watching the television, but one of her Siamese strays was up on the coffee table flexing its dark tail in her line of vision.

'Move Jasper, you naughty puss,' she scolded him like an infant.

The Siamese cat merely narrowed its eyes at her and gave a shrug of indifference before going back to his stretching.

Margot huffed and shook her head at the troublesome pet. She set down her knitting and pulled herself out of the chair, readying to shoo it away. As she reached for the cat, Margot forgot about the kitten playing at her feet…

Meeeooooww!!!

The tiny cat shrieked as Margot stepped on its tail. Stunned by the cry, Margot twisted around causing a sharp agonising pain to her right hip. Tangled in the unravelled yarn, she lost her footing and stumbled over, hitting the side of the coffee table.

Which was the last thing she remembered…

It was the middle of the night when she stirred. One of her mewing babies was licking her face with its coarse tongue. Her eyes darted around the cluttered room trying to gather her thoughts. The room was dark. The only sources of light was the amber hue from a street lamp shining through the window and the flickering TV screen that bounced across the artex ceiling.

She attempted to sit up, but her whole body remained rigid. Nothing moved.

Nothing!

She was paralysed.

Her eyes searched frantically from side to side. She couldn't even raise her head. Margot attempted to scream for help, but no words escaped her lips...

For days she lay on her back incapacitated. Time crawled by at a snail's pace as she tried to will herself into moving. But none of her limbs would comply. She couldn't feel anything. She guessed that when she fell she had injured her back; possibly breaking her spine.

Many of her cats restlessly brushed up against her body, using it for warmth. As the days went by, her moggies' cries increased.

My poor babies…they haven't eaten for days. They must be ever so hungry, she thought. Who's going to feed–?

She glanced down at her body. Many of her 'fur babies' were busily licking and gnawing at her paralysed fingers.

The horrifying thought made her realise how helpless she really was. Margot tried to yell out and pull her hands away, but nothing happened.

She was a living corpse!

In time, her cats wouldn't hold back from licking at her hands alone. The temptation to feed and the necessity to live would be too much for them to ignore. There was nothing else for them to eat. And cats were one of nature's greatest survivors.

Margot spent the day watching her pets circling her, greedily coveting her body with those bright, emerald green eyes. She watched their whiskers twitching as they licked their lips, wanting to feed…

It was Halloween and Margot had spent all day trying to speak. What began as a faint sigh had become a guttural groan. The gurgled out bursts had kept the cats at bay. But eventually they would ignore her gargles. She had hoped when the kids would knock at her door and play their trick she could call for help. But no one would hear these groans.

As night approached, Margot could sense her hungry pet's becoming restless. Like her, they were starving and would need to eat. And of course it was her Siamese, Jasper, perched on the coffee table that would put his needs before hers.

The beige feline hopped onto her motionless chest and purred as it approached her face. The sleek feline narrowed its slit eyes as it crept towards her. Unable to defend herself, Margot watched as her pet ran its prickly tongue over soft cheeks.

Tasting her.

The cat slowly twisted around as it dug its claws into her skin, like it was pinning down a defenceless mouse. The Siameses tail flexed across her nose, making her want to sneeze, until she felt Jasper's needle teeth sink into her chin.

The horror of knowing she was going to be eaten alive had her gasping for breath. Entirely helpless to what was about to happen to her.

Knock-knock!

The trick or treaters, she thought, they're my only chance!

She frantically thought of a way to get their attention. She couldn't yell, her voice wouldn't be heard because it was so weak. But she needed to make a loud enough noise for them to rescue her.

Margot suddenly had an epiphany! Jasper's tail was swaying back and forth across her nose as he chewed at her face. It was stroking across her dry and crusted lips. She knew just how to make herself heard. She opened her mouth wide and latched on to her beloved cats furry tail, biting down onto the bony flesh.

MmmmeeeooowwwWWW!!!

The Siamese cat squealed loudly as it got a taste of its own medicine. Jasper spun around and violently scratched at her nose and mouth, attempting to free itself. The cats claws stung as they raked across her nostril and cheeks. Margot unclenched her jaw, allowing her pet to flee to safety. Jasper gave one more malevolent scratch before dashing across the room with a hiss.

Margot was spitting away the tiny hairs from her mouth when she heard the muffled commotion outside her window. As she glanced up, she could see a group of masked faces peering through the glass.

And as she lay with her eye's closed hearing the pane of glass being shattered, allowing the children to come to her rescue. Margot suddenly thought, People weren't all that bad, afterall.

#horror #thriller #books & libraries #flashfiction #flashfictionstories #shortstories #halloween #cats #instawriters

1 note · View note

bullseyegames · 4 years

Note

A penny whistle as an object for the Cats OC meme?

Thank you @hewilldoashedodo for letting be use your beautiful kitty. :3

Her name is Menina. She is alight brown Persia Linx with black strips and a white bib. She has brownish green eyes and is fairly young, about 4-5 years old.

Menina was born to a small litter of 3 kittens. While she spent the first few weeks happily with her mother, she could hear the humans mumbling to themselves, something about money and a river. While Menina didn’t realize the potential danger, her mother did, quickly giving her kittens one last nuzzle before ordering them to run as far and fast as they could. It would be many years before Menina saw her mother again.

She ran the streets for a few months, growing accustomed to the culture of the strays and gravitating to popular hangouts. Her favorite was underneath a large club for humans where cats could come to dance, drink, and enjoy life. One night a female human on the floor above dropped a red scarf and it fell through the cracks into Menina’s arms. It was made of silk and covered with small white flowers. Happily she wrapped it around her waist like a skirt and danced the night away, earning the praise of the crowd and the attention of one cat.

Macavity would often prowl the clubs and the tougher parts of town looking for cats to claim as his own. The gutters for soldiers, the trash cans for kittens, and the clubs for conquests. Macavity was a jealous and hoarding cat, always wanting what everyone else had. So when he saw the beautiful brown queen in the flowery red skirt, he knew he had to have her.

Menina had heard of Macavity, but she had never heard him describe as anything but a monster. So she saw no harm in flirting with the Wild ginger tom that approached her. He was charming, and over the course of the week their relationship evolved until Macavity took her back to one of his many hideaways. Menina was well provided for and tended to, but she quickly realized that this was a gilded cage. Her lover would sometimes come home happy charming and loving. Other times he would come home as her captor, and make it so she couldn’t move for days without searing pain.

One of these visits, Macavity stayed for a few days to meet with some of his street scouts. One of these scouts was a Siamese Tom with a bright smile and a small leather satchel on his back. The bag was covered in a number of colorful patches that caught the queens eye. Later that day she heeds beautiful music, and found him in the sitting room, playing a small red tin whistle. He noticed her peaking in the room, making note of the large bruise on her shoulder, before inviting her in to play with him.

For the next few Menina and the tom, who she learned was called Parlena, continued to meet. Him teaching her how to play music and her teaching him how to dance. Eventually there came a day when Parelna came to visit, only to find Menina lying on the floor beaten and bleeding. Macavity’s attempt to kidnap the Jellicle leader had ended in failure, and she had paid the price for it. Parlena snarled in anger as he jumped over to the beautiful queen, he quickly scooped her into his arms and leaped out of the window with her. Fleeing into the night.

When Menina woke up, it was too soft bandages and the smell of beer and meats. She was lying in a small nest tucked into the corner of a small bedroom. The faint sound of music lingering from the floor below. Her confusion was resolved when she saw Parlena enter through the cracked open door, rushing to nuzzle her before explaining what had happened and why she was now in Parlena’s owners tavern.

Over the next few weeks Menina regained her strength, before she was finally able to go down to the floor below, where humans danced and music played. Parlena pulled Menina into the fray, watching as the queen melted into the joyous melody as her red skirt shimmered in the candlelight and her laughter filled the room.

Their story carries on throughout the street. The tale of two lovers who defied the Napoleon of crime himself to be together and live happily. Almost any street kitten could happily recite the age old story, of the thief and the red queen.

#cats the musical #jellicle oc #jellicle oc challenge #Menina #Parlena #yay a happy ending!#and the building blocks for another jellicle oc if anyone is interested. :3 #macavity

13 notes · View notes

ghostcat3000 · 5 years

Text

Thank you for the Last Line Tag in this post, @angel-in-new-york-city. Here is the last line I wrote for Rest Easy:

Hilda’s probably lurking under the sofa; waiting to pounce on Isak’s frayed-socked feet and sink her fangs in.

No, Hilda is not a vampire. She’s a Siamese cat. Close.

I tag: @modestytreehouse, @irazor, @sheisraging

#tag you're it #last line meme #Ghostcat replies #meme time #work-in-progress #Rest Easy

5 notes · View notes

bruinhilda · 7 years

Text

Fanfic: The Return of the Feline Rebels

Okay, this one might need a little history for those who missed it the first time around. Last year, @castielslight posted a series of paintings of the Liberator Crew as kittens. They were adorable, and it was irresistible to a crack fic writer. For every pair of kittens that were posted, I wrote a segment of a story explaining how the heck the Liberator crew were now kittens. You can find the segments here: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 And the gallery of all the kitten pictures is here.

Why am I pointing these out now? Because instead of working on the ‘zine submission that was annoying me that day, I wrote a sequel. As it’s a sequel, it can’t go in Rebels & Fools. But I entertained the editor, and now I’m unleashing it all on you! Click the “keep reading” to see the madness. (It will go on AO3 soonish, if you prefer that venue. But it started on Tumblr, so Tumblr gets it first.)

In Tarrant's defense, he wasn't to know. Even if he had been told, he could have been forgiven for believing it to be a joke.

He was getting information from an old contact, an Amagan trader, and when a pair of troopers walked by, he picked up the little statue and pretended to be a customer. It looked like a cheap novelty, and was in fact being sold as such; just a crudely carved little cat with a crooked grin and unevenly placed jeweled eyes.

He hadn't meant to actually buy the comical little thing, but Kearn was nothing if not a professional. Tarrant was parted from his money and sent on his way before he realized he'd been made to buy it for an outrageous price.

He stared at it bemusedly, grinning at himself for being that gullible. He supposed it would be good for a quick laugh.

“There you are. Any luck?” Dayna came sauntering up, holding a box that probably contained parts for another new gun.

“I'm afraid not. Kearn didn't know anything worthwhile. I'm afraid he's been too far out of the loop since the war.”

Dayna had spotted the cat, and raised an eyebrow. “What on earth have you bought this time?”

He grinned and held it up for closer inspection. The green crystal eyes sparkled. “Just a little something to annoy Avon with. I thought I'd leave it on his station, see how he reacts.”

“You do like living dangerously,” Dayna laughed. She shifted her box and raised her bracelet. “Cally, we're ready to come up. That thing is both hideous-”

“-and ridiculous,” she finished, as they appeared in the teleport bay.

“Beg pardon?” Cally asked.

“Tarrant is thinking of taking up practical jokes,” Dayna explained, as she put her box down.

“Really? But we already have Vila,” Cally quipped. The two women grinned at each other.

“Well, perhaps he could use some competition,” Tarrant said. He held the little cat up again, and did his best impression of its crooked snarl.

Instead of laughing, Cally scrambled back, hitting the wall and almost falling out of the seat. “Get rid of it, quickly Tarrant!”

Dayna's grin turned to concern. “Cally?”

“Oh come on, it's hardly threatening,” Tarrant protested. “Or are you afraid of cats?”

“Take it back down, quickly! I'll operate the teleport, just get it off the ship before it activates!”

“Activates? Cally, it's just a little trinket.” Tarrant tapped it against the console for emphasis. “See, it's perfectly...”

“It's glowing!” Dayna yelped. She dove for the exit, Cally right behind her.

“What?” Tarrant looked down at the statue, and the world turned white. The little cat thumped to the deck, paws up.

Tarrant picked himself up as the light faded, and shook his head. That was odd, he thought. He was a bit dizzy, but otherwise seemed okay. Though his perceptions were off. The room looked a lot larger all of a sudden.

A huge, red-brown feline face suddenly loomed in front of him. Green eyes glared, and long black tufted ears flattened back. “RrrrrreeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” it shrieked.

Tarrant scrambled backwards as fast as he could, tripping all over his...tail and paws?

Oh HELL. He scrabbled around in a circle, chasing his tail in a moment of sheer disbelief. His short, curly fur bristled, and his oversized ears flipped back and forth.

Someone swatted him upside the head. He whirled and snarled. The siamese in front of him responded with a yowl that rattled the walls. Bright blue eyes glared even harder than the caracal's had. Tarrant eased back, and Dayna stalked forward after him, looking incredibly angry.

The caracal yowled at them both, cuffed the Cornish Rex, and leaped onto the console, letting loose an incredibly loud howl.

Feet thumped down the corridor. Dayna jumped and landed facing the other way. Tarrant sat upright, pricking his ears forward.

“Cally, what the hell is going on...here...” Vila nearly tripped down the stairs, staring at the three cats. His eyes locked onto the statue. “Oh no, not again!” he wailed. He lunged for the intercom. “Avon, we...!”

Another flash blinded them all, and then a large orange tomcat tumbled to the floor. Vila picked himself up, shook himself, then turned a put-upon look directly at Tarrant.

Tails lashed. “Yow!” Dayna yelled. Tarrant wasn't sure if that was for him or just to the universe in general, but he suddenly found it prudent to retreat under the console.

“Mrow yow rowl! Vila added, scratching his neck.

Cally hissed. And then she thumped to the deck and darted up the corridor towards the crew quarters.

***

Avon turned in his sleep. On the edge of his consciousness, he thought he heard someone call his name, almost waking him up. When it wasn't repeated, he drifted back to his dreams. Odd, disjointed images flashed through his mind. Cats fighting, a sense of running, being very low to the ground and afraid. Some slumbering giant looming overhead on an immense bed...

Something large and heavy hit him in the midsection. Pointed claws drove into delicate portions of his anatomy, pulling him awake instantly.

“Aaugh!”

“ReeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” The thing in his lap squealed.

It sounds like someone strangling a computer, Avon thought blearily. He forced his eyes to focus on the russet bundle. His brows went up.

“Either I am having a nightmare, or some idiot has brought another Oros statue on board.”

An image of a shining grin topped with curly hair flashed in his mind. “So it wasn't Vila this time. That's one for the records.”

“Mrew.” Cally kneaded her paws in the blankets, and into Avon again.

“Ouch. Enough. I'm getting up.” He shifted, and Cally thumped to the floor, waiting patiently while Avon hurriedly got dressed. With a sigh, he scooped the caracal up. Cally leaned into his arms and purred, which disturbed him slightly. “Where is it?”

Images flashed again. “The teleport section?” He took the increase in purring as a yes. “Then we're going to the flight deck.”

“EEEEE...”

“Stop that. I can't do anything if I'm reduced to paws and yowling.”

Cally mumbled, then snuggled deeper into his arms. Avon fought the urge to scratch her behind the ears. Quickly, he ran for the flight deck, keeping an eye out for stray cats.

***

Tarrant had retreated to the top of the teleport console when Cally left. He hissed and lashed his tail, warning the other two to keep back.

Vila yawned, flashing some fearsome fangs in that bright orange face. His own tail twitched lazily, as though he didn't have a care in the world. Dayna, on the other hand, was slowly stalking back and forth, eyes always fixed on Tarrant. He hissed at her again for good measure.

Vila yawned again, this time adding an impressive full-body stretch. Tarrant's eyes shifted to him for a second, and Dayna pounced. She sailed from the couch to the console, hitting Tarrant dead on and knocking him off. He twisted and managed to land on his feet, and then Vila landed on his back, all signs of torpor gone. Tarrant shrieked and struck out with his claws. Vila let him go and leaped away, colliding with Dayna on her leap down to join the fray.

Tarrant raced out of the teleport section, running for his life with the other two cats in hot pursuit. All three were screaming bloody murder as they raced for the flight deck.

Behind them, the statue pulsed and glowed...

***

+...As the energy readings are identical, and the effects similar, the process should be reversible as before. I would deduce that it will only take a repeating of the action that triggered the event, most likely by the same individual.+ Orac buzzed and ticked. +This really is most fascinating.+

“I'm pleased you think so,” grumbled Avon. “Perhaps you can figure out how to communicate the proper instructions to a feline.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. A migraine was already settling in from this. He stopped and jerked his hand back for the third time as it automatically reached out to stroke the purring cat curled up next to him. “What are the chances that this will simply reverse itself on its own?”

+I do not have sufficient data to draw a conclusion. However, if you would allow me to observe this phenomenon for an extended period of time...+

“No.”

+Very well,+ Orac huffed. +Then I would suggest you try to explain it before the effect triggers your own transformation.+

“I am going nowhere near that thing.” He nudged the caracal. “Cally, wake up. I need you to...”

Cally snapped awake, and started snarling. Avon moved back, but she was staring at the entrance. Loud shrieks announced the arrival of the rest of the crew, as they tumbled down the steps in a ball of fur and fury.

Avon reacted instinctively, grabbing up his drink and throwing it at the howling tornado of fur. The cats broke apart instantly, glaring at Avon. Vila shook out his damp fur with a “ffft!”

“If you will behave yourselves for a minute, I may have the solution...”

There was a hum at the edge of his hearing. Four sets of feline ears flicked up. There was another flash of white.

And a large black cat scrabbled upright on the couch. Yellow eyes glared balefully at everyone and everything.

So much for staying out of range. Avon mrrrewed in exasperation, then leaped down to the deck. With injured dignity, he strode out of the flight deck, cuffing Tarrant along the way. The Cornish rex hissed and followed, as he'd hoped.

The statue was still glowing when they reached the teleport section. The green crystal eyes glittered menacingly. Avon headbutted Tarrant, who looked at him blankely.

Avon snarled, and pawed at the statue, glaring at Tarrant. Tarrant sat down next to it, and yawned.

Avon smacked the statue into the wall. Nothing. Growling, he stalked over and smacked it back over to Tarrant, who just looked at it, then him.

Avon stalked up to Tarrant, leaned into his face, and yelled, “Mow!”

Tarrant put back his ears and hissed. His tail flicked back and forth. After a moment's observation, Avon pounced on it, and bit as hard as he could.

“YOW!” Tarrant screeched, and attacked, paws flailing wildly. One paw smacked the statue, which hit the base of the console.

There was a tremendous flash of white.

And Avon's punch landed smack in Tarrant's eye, knocking the other man flat on his back. Avon looked down at his hand for a moment, then looked at Tarrant.

“That is absolutely the last time I buy anything off Kearn.” Tarrant sat up, holding his face. “Do I get in a punch of my own, to keep things even?”

“I wouldn't recommend it.”

***

“So Orac thinks that the teleport actually charges the material in the statue, priming it to go off with the right amount of kinetic force.”

“That's why nothing happened on the planet,” Dayna said. “I wondered why it didn't go off until we teleported back.”

“So Kearn didn't know,” Tarrant said. “I guess I won't kill him the next time I see him after all.”

“Why the hell would anyone make weapons that turns you into a cat?” Vila asked. “I thought the one was a fluke, but if there's two of them...”

“As the Oros culture is long-dead, we can only guess,” Cally sighed.

“It may not have been designed to do anything,” Avon said. “Oros was a primitive planet when its people were wiped out. The material is native to the planet, and they hardly had teleport capabilities. It's likely that they were just trinkets, and their makers had no idea at all what they could do under the right conditions.”

“I hope you're right. I'd hate to think there were superweapons like that ready to dig up,” Tarrant said, leaning back and pressing the cold pack against his black eye.

“It's kind of funny that you weren't anywhere near it when you turned into a cat.” Vila took a swig of his drink and grinned.

“Obviously, its range was greater than Orac calculated.”

“Or maybe it's because it happened to you before,” Cally suggested.

“There's a thought,” Vila said. “Do you suppose Blake and Jenna suddenly found themselves scratching fleas and chasing mice, wherever they've gotten to?”

“Don't be ridiculous, Vila. It couldn't have done anything of the sort.”

***

Many, many light years away, Blake shook his head. He'd had narrow escapes before, but this? He'd never thought the cat transformation would happen to him again, but he had to admit, the timing couldn't have been better. He wondered what those Federation guards were going to say to their commanders?

***

None of the ship's crew dared to ask Jenna what had happened. She made it clear she would kill them if they ever mentioned it to anyone else. Her second nursed the deep scratches on the hand that hadn't been able to resist petting the fluffy angora cat in the captain's chair.

***

Servalan had two of the guards killed. It wouldn't do to have them talk. The third was relieved and thrilled that his President had such trust in his discretion. She refrained from telling him that she couldn't bear to kill a man who could rub her ears in just that way. She definitely had plans for that young man...

***

Somewhere on a dead world, a one-eyed man stumbled through the ruins of a destroyed complex, utterly baffled by where he was, and what had happened.

***

In Disposal Complex 9, the workers were surprised by the huge gray fluffball that had scrabbled out of the cremation dump and streaked by them. It was widely discussed for an hour before everyone forgot all about it in the press of their duties. Someone dumped an animal down the chute as a cruel joke, was the consensus.

Gan hurried through the streets outside. It would take him a long time to sort out everything that had happened to him...

***

Five years later, two men in a creaky old shuttle landed next to a destroyed base on a long-forgotten planet. They spent some time digging and shifting debris. The wildlife, fortunately, had been largely reduced by the nearby volcano.

After some hours, they sat down. The large one set a bundle of clothes down on the cleanest spot he could find. The smaller one pulled out a box, and pressed some buttons. There was the hum of power discharge. After ten minutes, he removed a small, crude dog statue from it, and tapped it on the ground.

It glowed, and a flash of white created a Mastiff and a Beagle puppy. The Mastiff barked once, and sat patiently. The Beagle scratched itself vigorously.

There were small yips. The pups leaped to their feat, tails wagging excitedly. A small wolf cub crawled out of the tumbled ruins, and shook itself.

The beagle started yapping and dancing around the cub, licking its face and wagging his tail so hard it created a breeze. The mastiff danced and barked in place, and then nudged the little statue.

The beagle yelped and raced around the statue for a minute. Then a paw reached out and smacked it into a jumble of rocks.

There was a flash of white...

#Blake's 7 #Blake's Kittens #fanfic #thanks to @castielslight #both for the original kittens #and for approving of the sequel!

17 notes · View notes

euphoniousgoob · 7 years

Note

200-170?

200: My crush’s name is: (Celebs) Raúl (Esparza), Richard (Speight) Brian (Quinn), Kit (Harrington), and Aidan (Turner). (Fictional) Gabriel (Supernatural), Nevada (Trouble in the Heights), Rafael (svu), Jon (Game of Thrones), and Mitchel (Being Human UK). (Real Life) N/A (I devote all my time to crushing on people I will never ever meet) 199: I was born in: England 198: I am really: tired  197: My cellphone company is: O2 196: My eye color is: brown 195: My shoe size is: 7/8 194: My ring size is: unknown? Probably like a medium? I dunno how to measure my ring size? 193: My height is: 5'4"ish 192: I am allergic to: my cat and cut grass 191: My 1st car was: non existent, who needs a car in London? 190: My 1st job was: babysitting 189: Last book you read: finished? Don't remember. But I'm currently reading The Hobbit, The Princess Bride, and Anna Karenina 188: My bed is: uncomfortable 187: My pet: is a Siamese cat called Coco 186: My best friend: is @yer-a-timelord-sammy 185: My favorite shampoo is: silver shampoo for bleached hair 184: Xbox or ps3: Xbox (360) 183: Piggy banks are: useful. I currently keep all my change in a sack 182: In my pockets: there is my credit card, my id, a pen, and a receipt 181: On my calendar: is a reminder for Phantom of the Opera in 13 days, my cousins birthday, my birthday, and The Impractical Jokers Tour 180: Marriage is: something I want but don't need 179: Spongebob can: fuck off178: My mom: is awesome 177: The last three songs I bought were? Cascada 'Truly, Madly, Deeply'; GRL 'Ugly Heart'; and Meghan Trainor 'NO'. 176: Last YouTube video watched: the lyric video to The Fray How To Save A Life 175: How many cousins do you have? Too many to count, upwards of 50 considering my great Nan had 13 siblings 174: Do you have any siblings? 3 half brothers and 1 half sister, but I don't see my sister or one of my brothers 173: Are your parents divorced? My parents were never married, but my mum and step dad are divorced 172: Are you taller than your mom? Nope 171: Do you play an instrument? Nope, I used to play piano and the only song I still know is When All The Saints 170: What did you do yesterday? I watched Netflix/tv pretty much all day

0 notes

theliterateape · 4 years

Text

Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah: How to Square the Circle of Disney’s Past With Today’s Need For Revisionist Cleansing

By Don Hall

“Donald, you can’t do/say/think that!” “WHYYYYYYY?!?” “Because I said so.”

Never happened. Perhaps it was because my mom was young and hadn’t decided that teaching me to go along to get along was the best approach to socializing me or because, as a young activist bleeding-heart she was of the mind that more information about how things were and could be was better for my spongey brain, the Do As I Say Because I Said So method of parenting was just not present in my upbringing.

No. Mom tended to indulge me and my curiosity with answers. Sometimes the lessons took a long time to gestate like her hatred for Richard Nixon in 1972 and other times they were immediately traumatic like her detailed explanation of sex years before my hormones kicked in. Erring perhaps on the side of providing me with too much information, Mom wanted me to know about everything.

Her example also taught me to question everything I read or was told. Whenever teachers or school administrators or police or doctors flung their decrees my way, it was an automatic response to question it, to interrogate it, to break it down and make some sort of sense out of it. Assessing motivations was harder because I had to look closely at the behavior behind the demands of my compliance to put together the pieces behind them.

The long term effect all of this nurturing of my critical mind had on me is that, while human and subject to the bias we all carry, I tend to immediately interrogate any demand of conformity to a cause.

I’m not especially passionate about Disney but I am about Star Wars and Marvel so Disney+ was a no brainer. The Mandalorian is a blast and all the Pixar stuff is gorgeous and wonderful.

But wait. Was the name of the leader of those singing crows in Dumbo actually “Jim Crow?” I completely forgot about the musical montage to racist genocide in Peter Pan. The hyenas in The Lion King are not exactly subtle.

Disney has been in business for a long damn time and there are an awful lot of cultural blind spots present when laid out with the whole canon (minus, of course, Song of the South and the host of propaganda shorts made during WWII depicting the Japanese as rat-like creatures and grotesque racial caricatures of Germans and Italians).

Disney has even pre-loaded language to warn viewers that this stuff is embedded right in there.

“It may contain outdated cultural depictions.”

There is still call to erase these outdated cultural depictions entirely. Obviously, the Corporate Mouse is sensitive to this as Song of the South is pretty much unavailable anywhere. An affable house n****r pining a bit for the past when he was a slave is most definitely outdated and, if taken at its face, paints a picture of white supremacy via cartoon unlike anything in popular culture.

The questions that crop up in my medulla, however, are many. Why erase the cultural signifiers of the past—reminders of slavery, of the Civil War, of gender dominance, of ethnic bias—rather than contextualize them? Why bother with them at all and instead simply censor them out of existence? No one is harmed by not having access to Uncle Remus or the Siamese cats from Lady and the Tramp, right?

The argument to eliminate these outdated cultural depictions is fairly straight forward: they’re offensive to many people, they proliferate a culture of intolerance and white supremacy, they serve to remind us of attitudes we’d prefer to be put away and left unrevisited. The idea is that absent these reminders of racist and sexist signifiers, society is freer to move past them. Unfortunately, this argument is almost always accompanied by the requisite “Because we said so.” The result being a new bedrock belief that marginalization and suffering grants a certain unassailable moral high ground to those in camp with their offense and imagined pain elevating their opinion to dogma.

What are the long term consequences to this sort of cultural washing? We know that despite Disney making unavailable the Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah romp of an ex-slave showing a white boy his grandmother’s plantation, it isn’t hard for those on that Wasn’t It Better With Slavery power grab to get their grubby mitts on. It isn’t like it was erased and just hidden from view. We know that by creating a hostility toward the flippant use of certain words that those words tend to gain even more power in their suppression despite certain marginalized groups reclaiming them.

Being on the Right Side of History is a truly slippery slope. Take Christopher Columbus as an example. For just over five hundred years streets were named for the guy, we celebrated a federal holiday in his name, he was absolutely on the Right Side of History as a hero. In forty short years, he has gone from hero to colonizing slave apologist and is seen by many as a villain. Our founding fathers went from bold thinkers who fought for the mashup of democracy, republic, and a country on its own to slave-owning monsters who created the platform for white supremacy and cultural genocide. The Right Side of History is a fickle beast.

What I see when I dive into the Disney Vault is a longer history of progress. I see the antiquated views of equal representation culturally in cartoons like The Three Caballeros (1944) and Saludos Amigos (1942) to High School Musical and Elena of Avalor, both examples of Disney fluff but with respect to multiculturalism and ethnic inclusion. Without the ability to see the patronizing and borderline racist perspectives of the 1940s, can we truly appreciate the evolution? Can we understand why Marvel’s Black Panther is watershed without the above the fray view of so many movies absent a full cast of black actors? Without that exclusionary tapestry in view, does Cooglar’s vision even matter as much?

“It may contain outdated cultural depictions.”

This is as good as it gets in terms of trigger warnings, I think. As opposed to Disney capitulating to the demands of our most recent squeaky wheels via social media, treat consumers as critical thinkers with an ability to see offensive ideas and not be threatened by them.

“It may contain outdated cultural depictions so make a choice but understand that your choice may not be everyone else’s choice and if you can’t handle that, don’t subscribe and miss out on all the fucking Star Wars and Marvel shit we’re creating.”

“America, you can’t do/say/think that!” “WHYYYYYYY?!?” “Because we said so.”

Nope. Gotta do better than that, my Woke friends.

#Disney+#cultural blindspots #Christopher Columbus #critical thinking skills #appropriate trigger warnings

0 notes