Long live pole cat

I was sitting in jail earlier this year for a nonsense domestic violence charge. I can thank my ex for this. She called the cops on me and told them I stole my own truck. Somehow I got arrested for domestic violence. I still don't know how that all worked out.

But anyways, I was sitting in Macomb County Jail. I was in the maximum security section of the jail because I called one of the guards a prick. Apparently they're not very fond of that kind of thing. Max was set up like this... There was six one man cells right next to one another. It basically looked like what you might see in any prison movie, bars and everything. There was a small walkway and a hall for the guards directly across from the cells. We were locked down for 21 hours a day. Six guys in an enclosed area. You could hear every sneeze, burp, or fart very clearly.

So we're all sitting there one night bullshitting. Somehow we got on the topic of stealing cable. This very hood kid from Detroit goes on to tell a fantastic story that I would like to immortalize on the interwebs. The story of "Pole Cat"

Guy starts telling the story. He says that he was squatting in an abandoned house on the east side of Detroit. He said if you just know the right people you can get all of your services hooked up pretty cheap and not have to pay a bill. He knew people that could install water meters, electric meters, turn your gas on, etc. Then he goes on to describe one of the neighborhood crack heads that they called Pole Cat.

Pole Cat was just a cool dude. He cared about everybody. When he was walkin to the corner store to buy a 40 he would stop by your front steps and ask you if you needed anything while he was at the store. He'd get it for you and wouldn't even steal your money. He was that kind of guy.

But Pole Cat was a crackhead. He really loved his crack. He'd do anything to get him some crack. So that leads to his nick name, Pole Cat. Apparently this crack head was pretty ballsy, and enterprising, so what he would do is climb utility poles and turn people's cable on for them. For a fee of course. A fee of crack. A 20 dollar rock would get your cable turned on in ten minutes flat. And the guy didn't need any ladders or rope either. He would shimmy up the pole, open the box, and plug you in.

So my new buddy in jail tells me that he wanted his cable turned on and down the road comes Pole Cat. He stops him and asks him if he can do it. "Sure, no problem man. Juss let me git one dem twenny rocks." You can never trust a crackhead so homeboy says I'll give you ten now and ten when you get done.

So he gives Pole Cat a 10 dollar rock of crack and Pole Cat takes out his pipe and smokes it. Pole Cat then shimmy's up pole and starts opening the box. All of the sudden there is a loud explosion of sparks. Pole Cat flies through the air a good sixty feet horizontally down a back alley. My jail buddy rushes to see what happened. He finds Pole Cat dazed, partially on fire, with his hair singed.

"You alright Pole Cat?"
"I'm fine."
"Man you on fire."
"Aint nothin. Juss my shirt" As he pats out the flames.
"Here Pole Cat, here's the other 10 rock. And an extra 5 bucks man. Go get yourself somethin to drink.

Pole Cat stumbles on down to the liquor store and buys himself a 40. He pops a squat under a big oak tree and smokes his rock and sips on his 40. Eventually he falls asleep, and passes away in his sleep.

Pole Cat was everybody's friend. He was the neighborhood's favorite crack head. He'd do anything for you for a crack rock, but he wasn't shady. He'd never screw you over. The hood in Detroit won't be the same without him. So anyways, I would just like to say: Long live Pole Cat. Let him never be forgotten.