Pervis von Chickenface: Intrepid Badass

Let’s talk real for a minute. Reviler is really a blog about cats. We just write about music when we’re inspired. In the run-up to our two-year anniversary extravaganza, we asked the four bands playing to share something about their favorite cats.

Were very happy to have Fire in the Northern Firs opening for the shindig. Their drummer, Scott Weller, was nice enough to share a story of the badass-est cat that ever was.

Pervis von Chickenface. Have you ever been? Let me paint you a picture. She had the body of a Grecian stuffed-animal goddess, a rattle-trap voice like Marge Simpson, leg fur reminiscent of tapered sweatpants, and an instinct to hunt so fierce and pure that keeping her locked indoors simply wasn’t an option. She sucked at hunting, but that is not the point. Nor did it deter her from trying every single day. One summer evening, even as huge bruised-looking thunderheads filled the sky, Pervis was out on the hunt—an inbound summer storm was of no concern to her. She would have boxed the shit out of every one of those storm clouds had she the reach.

Alas, it was the Storm of Storms that night. Sound and fury, signifying everything. Flooded streets, no electricity for blocks, falling trees, and no sign of Lady von Chickenface after all was said and done. She’d gone on overnight reconnaissance before, but this was different. My housemates and I scoured the neighborhood, leaving no bush unchecked (she loved those damned bushes). We left the front door open for days. Nothing. Absence. We hung fliers throughout the whole Como neighborhood. Nada. After two weeks, I had given up hope. How could she go so long without Fancy Feasts? One didn’t want to think of such things.

But one morning, more than two weeks post-shitstorm, my roommates and I found  ourselves on the porch staring, mouths agape. Pervis von Chickenface coolly strutted down the sidewalk towards the house. She walked up the stairs and went through the open front door—and that was that. When I awoke that morning, I opened my bedroom door to find Pervo looking up at me. She gave me a sassy Marge-voiced greeting. It was like she had never disappeared.

To this day, I have no idea how she managed to get by. I don’t want to know. I do know that her feat of survival solidified her legendary status as Ultimate Badass among those who knew her. She flew by the seat of her tapered sweatpants, and there were never any “fucks” that she gave. Here’s to you, Pervis. (200?-2009)

 

The Reviler two-year anniversary concert is at the Turf Club on Friday, January 13. Fire in the Northern Firs is playing alongside Food Pyramid, Andrew Broder, and Is/Is. Tickets are $5. More information here.

—narration by Scott Weller, drummer of Fire in the Northern Firs

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