Kitty and the Colorado Cult.

While recuperating from a nasty automobile accident back in the mid-nineties I came across a physical manipulation therapy called Rolfing. My massage therapist at the time suggested I might try it so she gave me the number a colleague had forwarded to her of a couple who practiced Rolfing and were looking for clients. Now Rolfing has been called quackery by some and I will not vouch for it personally, but the woman and her partner who administered it were quite fascinating people, perhaps a bit too fascinating upon reflection.

Anyway, my Rolfing sessions took place over several weeks and I got to know these people quite well. They were both sun kissed, bleach blonde Americans, older than their appearance portrayed and really nice people. We always met in a different place, one week a house, the next week an apartment, all luxurious and costly B&B type situations. They were obviously well to do and were here sharing their Rolfing skills while visiting Canada for a few months.

We chatted about this and that and they talked about Colorado and how much they were looking forward to returning there. We started to spend time together outside of session times and we got along famously. I even mended some of their clothing when they asked where they might find a tailor locally. We talked about many things, we talked about religion and they shared their beliefs with genuine reverence and I couldn’t help but be moved. I was raised a Roman Catholic and church to me was a weekly reminder that there was something worse than school so it was refreshing to hear about their church and the fondness they felt towards their spiritual leader and others in their congregation.

The conversation seemed to always return to Colorado though; the place and the people they knew there were recollected fondly and with plenty of laughter. They would ask me if I had ever been there, would I want to go there some day and what was stopping me from going there now or in the near future? “My job, my stuff, my life,” I would answer, for Colorado seemed about as close to me as the moon right about then. As visits went on and whispers between them were overheard I got the distinct impression that these people were going to ask me to go to Colorado with them.

Meanwhile… at this same time, mid 1995 say, The Presidents of the United States of America’s first self-titled CD came out and I‘m playing it like I had just found God. Ween, Melvins (of course) and some other noises were on high rotation at my place, but Pot USA (as they were affectionately known) took over and were Supreme Lords of that particular time and space. My American Rolfers (premiering soon on Lifetime Channel) had never been to my space and were nearing the end of their visit. I was contacted by them one afternoon and they seemed very excited about some news they wanted to share with me and could they come by? I figured this was my hand carved invitation to Colorado being delivered so I put some music on and waited in giddy anticipation for their arrival.

The place I lived in at that time was called “The Cube” and for good reason. My space was 15 feet long by 15 feet wide by almost 15 feet high, in essence, a cube. Windows lined the entire south wall and I built a bed on stilts so I could use the space under it as my closet. It was a cool space situated in a crumbling mansion, ugly and foreboding on the outside, but rustic and almost less ugly and foreboding on the inside.

I met them out front once they eventually arrived and noted a look of surprise and disgust on their faces when they saw the decrepit nature of my dwelling. The excitement I felt on the phone turned a few degrees cooler at that moment, like I’d returned to Canada from a vacation in Hawaii in January and forgot to dress appropriately. They said they could only stay for a short bit so I invited them inside for a quick cup of tea. As we walked into my building and down the corridor to where my place was situated the strains of the song “Kitty” by the beloved Presidents of the United States of America could be heard playing on my stereo. As we entered my space the familiar voice of lead singer Chris Ballew sang out the famous lines:

Fuck you, kitty, you're gonna spend the night…

Fuck you, kitty, you're gonna spend the night…

Fuck you, kitty, you're gonna spend the night… outside!

At this point my American Rolfers both winced as if they’d just lost everything on number 13 black at a roulette table in Vegas. They looked at each other with sad, shocked faces and as I turned and I put the kettle on they whispered something feverishly to each other and with a vague promise to be in touch soon they turned and were gone.

I never saw or heard from them again.

Months later I’m visiting my massage therapist again and sharing my story of the American Rolfers with her when she stops the massage and sits down heavily in a chair. As I explained how I felt they were going to ask me to go to Colorado with them I looked up at her and her face was ghost white. She explained to me that the colleague of hers who recommended them found out that these people were actually part of a cult and they had come to Canada to recruit new members. You may be familiar with similar moments of shock and relief in your own life, like narrowly being missed by a car or almost slamming you fingers in something. For me this was one of those moments.

I eventually received a settlement for the car accident I had been in years ago. It wasn’t a huge amount, but enough to buy a vehicle and allow me go traveling. I bought myself a nice van and a mountain bike and drove around some of the most beautiful terrain the United States has to offer. I even went to Colorado. It was ok.