Heroic Agency, Creative Aggression

The Adventures of Destructo-Puss is about heroic agency, getting away with making things happen through joyful creative aggression. It’s a version of ‘move fast and break things,’ which I’m coming to believe is simply a phase of creative development that occurs when restrictions begin to loosen and held energy bursts forth, reckless, rambunctious, and delighted with itself.

This is the second of seven small books written between 1993 and 2009 as holiday gifts to family and friends. This one is the most fun, written in a first wave of engagement in graduate school, a new home, new relationship, new horizons for the future. Now, thirty years later, how’s my capacity for heroic agency and creative aggression coming along?… Looking forward to finding out! How’s yours?

It is dawn in the exquisitely pruned town of Hatfield. A big gray farmhouse crouches majestically behind a row of ancient maples lapped in a sea of Kentucky Bluegrass so refined even the word dandelion has withered from its language. In the distance, the first of the weed-whackers tunes up. 

Upstairs, two cats are sleeping on the sofa, one nestled in each corner. At the sound of lawn care machinery they know the day has begun and rise, stretching, ready to think about breakfast. 

Atlas, the big cat, pads over to the bedroom door and philosophically assumes the doorstop position to await the providers of meals. 

Agatsu, the little cat, claws open the bedroom door and, slipping through, becomes Destructo-Puss, the fearless avenger of All-night Hunger, the Caped Crusader of Enforced Early Rising, and the Ruthless Inquisitor of Early Morning Peace. 

He pauses in the doorway, no longer the mild-mannered cupcake his family knows and loves. His cool glance takes in the sleeping figures in the bed; he assesses the clutter on the desk and scans the bookshelves with a practiced eye. It is a tough job, but somebody’s got to do it. Without lighting a cigarette and tossing away the match, Destructo-Puss, cape flapping in an imaginary breeze, saunters in to do his duty. 

First on his agenda is a simple trek across the lumpy lands of the bed. Seeking with his little pointed boots to tread in the squishy places, Destructo-Puss stalks the territory with impunity, whiskering exposed flesh, and riding the groaning toss and turn of covers like an old salt. 

On the nightstand, he pauses to casually fish an earring out of a ceramic bowl, where it was naively left for safekeeping. With a little fine paw maneuverment, the earring drops softly into the wastebasket below. A head pops up from the pillow; “What was that?” Destructo-Puss assumes a seraphic gaze out of the window. The head drops down again. This is only the beginning. 

Stepping over to the bookshelf, Destructo-Puss stops in front of a framed picture of David who felled the mighty Goliath. Rising up on his haunches, he begins a brisk, rhythmic pummeling of the glass surface, including just enough claw for a screech overtone to balance the deeper undertone of frame bouncing against wall. 

Over his shoulder he hears a muffled exchange from the bed. “What the hell is he doing?” “Shhhh, ignore it and maybe he’ll stop.” Destructo-Puss grins to himself and continues until his Fanfare for the Nutritionally Oppressed is complete. 

Continuing around the room without touching the floor, this intrepid marauder pauses only to flex his claws into the upholstery of the armchair and, picking up speed, leaps onto the desk, skidding on a sheaf of research notes, which cascade to the floor, saving himself in the nick of time by upsetting the pencil jar. 

A muffled oath issues from the bed and Destructo-Puss applies himself to his task with relish. One by one the pencils and pens are dispatched onto the heap of papers on the floor, along with a set of keys, a calculator and a small clock, out of which batteries burst upon impact. 

Over on the bed recriminations are beginning: “Do we have to go through this every morning?” “Well, you left the door open…” 

Judging that the critical moment had arrived, Destructo-Puss, in his final calculated maneuver, deftly tips over the water glass, sloshing a jet of water across the remaining research notes and along the edge of the desk to drip onto the mess below. 

He leaps free, dry of paw, and romps out of the room, flashing past the howling figures struggling out of the bed, and achieves the safety of the dining room, cape flying, green eyes blazing. Once more, Destructo-Puss, Caped Crusader of Enforced Early Rising, has rescued his family from the insidious dangers of Late Sleep and Delayed Breakfast. 

Atlas, surfacing from a deep preprandial doze, opens his eyes to see his brother Agatsu serenely washing his ears just outside the door. Hearing the imminent approach of breakfast providers, Atlas begins to sing his Breakfast Song. It goes: 

I want you to feed me breakfast now, 

Now I want, Now I want you to feed me…

Now, breakfast, Now, Now, Breakfast, Now. 

As the kibbles are dumped into his dish, Atlas remarks over his shoulder to Agatsu: “I don’t know why you never sing the Breakfast Song, I find it very effective for motivating breakfast service.” 

Agatsu, once again the mild-mannered cupcake his family knows and loves, just purrs into his kibbles, harmonizing with the chorus of lawn mowers that roar on into the bright Hatfield morning.