Killer Tuba (true story)
Posted: Tue Mar 09, 2010 12:26 pm
This is a true Story... and I realize pet stories are usually pretty dull... but I promise this one is worth the read.
My family had this old cat named Ginger, she had been a scrawny stray that my wife and I adopted while I was in grad school in Chicago. Ginger was now pretty elderly, and dealing with some late-life “kitty dementia.” She was basically okay, but she’d do some strange things now and then. We knew she was in the sunset of her 9 lives.
On my recent birthday, my daughter and I went out for some errands, stopped to see a band of some friends, and finally to pick up my wife at work so we could go out to eat my birthday dinner at my favorite diner. We'd been out and about for a majority of the day.
When we got home after our lengthy outing, we were immediately greeted by the faint pained cry of an injured cat. We looked around under the furniture and couldn’t find the old girl. Finally we realized where the sounds were coming from... my tuba. ...which I had left out of the case, bell up, safely resting against a chair as I often do.
Sometime much earlier in the day, probably while jumping on the furniture, poor Ginger had somehow fallen into the tuba and lodged herself deep, so far she was beyond the bell partway into the bow. She was stuck good. Finally after a couple minutes of gentle pulling and shaking the horn upside down, we were able to slide her out.
She was a mess, it looked as she’d been in there for quite a long time. She’d soiled herself and the horn. She couldn’t walk, she could hardly move. We sadly realized that poor wretched Ginger was well into the throws of shock, something that kills cats quickly, especially old frail ones. We came to the realization that she’d be gone very soon -- which was the case. Not long after we extracted her from my tuba, she expired.
Now, this is not just a sad pet story... to add insult to injury and stress to the situation, I had to leave right away for a late-nite gig. I had already pushed the time envelope by going out to eat with my family for a birthday dinner beforehand. Dead cat or not, I had to go to work.
SO, while my wife was tending to the cat, I quickly gave my tuba a bath. In the raw brass of my vintage Mirafone, her demise actually left a stain deep in my horn which is still there.
I made it to the gig on time, albeit feeling a bit guilty - alas, the show must go on...
Finally, due to the kind but still debauched nature of musicians and their somewhat skewed view of life, Ginger’s story proved too tempting as compositional fodder to friends of mine. One nicknamed my tuba “The Pussy Killer”, and the another who leads an appropriately named band, “Gato Loco” wrote a lovely piece called “Mourning Ginger”
“Mourning Ginger” by Stefan Zenuik and the tuba-friendly big band “Gato Loco Coconino” premieres tonight in Brooklyn at the beautiful Galapagos Art Space at 8pm.
My family had this old cat named Ginger, she had been a scrawny stray that my wife and I adopted while I was in grad school in Chicago. Ginger was now pretty elderly, and dealing with some late-life “kitty dementia.” She was basically okay, but she’d do some strange things now and then. We knew she was in the sunset of her 9 lives.
On my recent birthday, my daughter and I went out for some errands, stopped to see a band of some friends, and finally to pick up my wife at work so we could go out to eat my birthday dinner at my favorite diner. We'd been out and about for a majority of the day.
When we got home after our lengthy outing, we were immediately greeted by the faint pained cry of an injured cat. We looked around under the furniture and couldn’t find the old girl. Finally we realized where the sounds were coming from... my tuba. ...which I had left out of the case, bell up, safely resting against a chair as I often do.
Sometime much earlier in the day, probably while jumping on the furniture, poor Ginger had somehow fallen into the tuba and lodged herself deep, so far she was beyond the bell partway into the bow. She was stuck good. Finally after a couple minutes of gentle pulling and shaking the horn upside down, we were able to slide her out.
She was a mess, it looked as she’d been in there for quite a long time. She’d soiled herself and the horn. She couldn’t walk, she could hardly move. We sadly realized that poor wretched Ginger was well into the throws of shock, something that kills cats quickly, especially old frail ones. We came to the realization that she’d be gone very soon -- which was the case. Not long after we extracted her from my tuba, she expired.
Now, this is not just a sad pet story... to add insult to injury and stress to the situation, I had to leave right away for a late-nite gig. I had already pushed the time envelope by going out to eat with my family for a birthday dinner beforehand. Dead cat or not, I had to go to work.
SO, while my wife was tending to the cat, I quickly gave my tuba a bath. In the raw brass of my vintage Mirafone, her demise actually left a stain deep in my horn which is still there.
I made it to the gig on time, albeit feeling a bit guilty - alas, the show must go on...
Finally, due to the kind but still debauched nature of musicians and their somewhat skewed view of life, Ginger’s story proved too tempting as compositional fodder to friends of mine. One nicknamed my tuba “The Pussy Killer”, and the another who leads an appropriately named band, “Gato Loco” wrote a lovely piece called “Mourning Ginger”
“Mourning Ginger” by Stefan Zenuik and the tuba-friendly big band “Gato Loco Coconino” premieres tonight in Brooklyn at the beautiful Galapagos Art Space at 8pm.
