Oh, Max.

Oh, Max.

Tags: cat kitten

Important things! For the Kids!


Hello everyone! I’m going to post a little thing under the break here, and I would really appreciate it if you read it, and then did the thing. <3

Read More

I’m about to get really annoying for the next week. I posted this last night, so if you didn’t see it, please read it! It’s for sick kids so it will make you feel good.

Oh yeah. Also the stream is October 25th/26th.

Important things! For the Kids!

Hello everyone! I’m going to post a little thing under the break here, and I would really appreciate it if you read it, and then did the thing. <3

Read More

Long time no see. I love all of you.

Long time no see. I love all of you.

Alright whatever I&#8217;m into it.

Alright whatever I’m into it.

(Source: pretty-suspicious, via thejagerdiaries)


here is the second weakerthans song as a stream. 

This is the second song (If you’re just tuning in, check out my last couple of posts). This is the one that gets me. This is such a tragic song. Taking place about three years after the first song, Virtute, the kind of silly but confident cat taking care of her owner in the last song, has run away. She details exactly how it happens, and why, and then proceeds to reminisce on what she has left behind. She details her life now, and in the end, ends the song singing about how she has forgotten her own name since she was never found and reuinted with her owner.

I’m going to go cry and hug my animals some more.

Virtute the Cat Explains Her Departure by Andy Hull (originally the Weakerthans).

It had something to do with the rain; leaching, loamy dirt.
And the way the back lane came alive; half moon whispered, “Go”.
For a while I heard you missing steps in the street, and your anger pleading in an uncertain key, singing the sound that you found for me.

When the winter took the tips of my ears; I found this noisy home.
Full of pigeons and places to hide, and when the voices died, I emerged to watch abandoned machines waiting for their men to return.
I remember the way I would wait for you to arrive with kibble and a box full of beer.
How I’d scratch the empties, desperate to hear you make the sound that you found for me.

After scrapping with the ferals and the tabby, I’d let you brush my matted fur.
How I’d knead into your chest while you were sleeping; shallow breathing made me purr.

But I can’t remember the sound that you found for me.
I can’t remember the sound that you found for me.
I can’t remember the sound.


just got off a grueling 24 hours worth of flying from australia. it’s odd that when i am this exhausted i find myself “needing” to record a cover. last time was my morning jacket. this time it’s the weakerthans with a lovely song called “a plea from a cat name virtute”. it was recorded on my iPhone in my living room underneath my bedroom where my lovely wife is sleeping. 

lots and lots of ragc news, release date, track listing, blaaaaaaa coming very soon. 

thanks so much for being patient. 

So this is Andy Hull (of Manchester Orchestra and Bad Books) covering a Weakerthans song (you may have seen my previous post about it).

This song (paired with it’s sequel song which is EVEN SADDER and I will post in a moment) are presented from the point of view of a cat named Virtute. Virtute is singing to her master, who is very depressed and sad and a general loser lately because of that depression. I’m going to post the lyrics, also, because this is part one of my Saddest Thing Ever and I want  to share it with you.

A Plea from Virtute the Cat by Andy Hull (originally the Weakerthans).

Why don’t you ever want to play? I’m tired of this piece of string.
You sleep as much as I do now, and you don’t eat much of anything.
I don’t know who you’re talking to, I made a search through every room.
But all I found was dust that moved in shadows of the afternoon

And listen, about those bitter songs you sing? 
They’re not helping anything. They won’t make you strong.

So, we should open up the house. Invite the tabby two doors down.
You could ask your sister, if she doesn’t bring her basset hound.
Ask the things you shouldn’t miss: Tape-hiss and the Modern Man, The Cold War and card catalogues, to come and join us if they can.

For girly drinks and parlor games we’ll pass around the easy lie of absolutely no regrets, and later maybe you could try to let your losses dangle off the sharp edge of a century, and talk about the weather, or how the weather used to be.

And I’ll cater with all the birds that I can kill, let their tiny feathers fill disappointment.
Lie down; lick the sorrow from your skin.
Scratch the terror and begin to believe you’re strong.

All you ever want to do is and watch TV, and frankly, my dear, that doesn’t really interest me.
I swear I’m going to bite you hard and taste your tinny blood, if you don’t stop the self-defeating lies you’ve been repeating since the day you brought me home.

I know you’re strong.

I’m at the point of drunk that I’m hugging my animals and listening to the absolute saddest songs (Andy Hull covering the Weakerthan’s songs about Virtute the cat) and hugging my animals and wanting to cry.

Writing doesn’t work anymore and I’m just a big ol’ sad sack.

Bro, I can&#8217;t even find myself.

Bro, I can’t even find myself.