In Montreal in the sixties, growing up in a Catholic family, we were always encouraged to use our talents in religious gatherings. Even my Aunt Pat, blissfully unaware that she was tone-deaf, would raise her voice loudly and proudly in song. I sang at mass, first in Latin as the organ wheezed, and later in folk masses, where the guitar was the instrument of choice.
Lord Farlsworth, that magnificent cougar-faced beast, has been waking me up at ever earlier hours (4:15 a.m. today … a new record!) with yowls that pierce through a sleep-sodden brain. If ignored, Lord F pounces on little Jay, my delicate flower of a girl cat. Since he outweighs her by 10 
pounds, and she can’t stand him, a classic cat fight, complete with Siamese screams, ensues, and I’m getting up, damnit, like it or not.
But the crazy thing about the Jay/Lord F battles is that, once physically separated, the tiny Jay will then search the house to find him. It’s a classic “good girl” love/hate relationship with a “bad boy.”
Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 