Miles Davis has a new
baby brother playmate pain in his ass! The week before last I decided that Miles needed a buddy. He needs far too much attention to be left home alone all day and begged for it all night (and sometimes weekends) long. Two days after my resolution, a colleague of mine hit me up to take one of four eight-week-old kittens belonging to the neighborhood stray off his hands. Kismet.
Enter Sir "Diesel" Duke! His name in keeping with the musical theme of my life and in honor of the late jazz-great Duke Ellington, some of whose master recordings recently went up in flames in the Universal Studios fire. (Whoops, did I just write that out loud? Oh well, you don't suppose people--and by people I mean shareholders--really believed Ron Meyer that day when he said all of the film and recorded music masters were in a "safe place," do you?)
I'll try to get a shot of Sir Duke inside one of my Diesel sneakers to demonstrate the inspiration for the nickname. He likes my Simple sneakers well enough, but he's anything but--and already smarter than his three-year-old brother. Miles welcomed his fellow adopted feline kin with open paws on first sniff and Diesel made himself at home the first night in
his new my bed. With the exception of a few high speed chases, the transition has been incident free. Miles has even stopped whining, plus he's getting some exercise.