Wednesday, February 01, 2012


via the amazing blog Cats-On-Film:

When, at the end of Alien, Sigourney Weaver says, "This is Ripley, last survivor of the Nostromo, signing off," she's not telling the whole truth. Because there's another survivor, curled up with her in the hypersleep capsule. Jones (or Jonesey) the ginger tom.

Jones serves multiple functions within the Alien storyline:
1) CATGUFFIN, a pretext for characters to go wandering off on their own.
2) CATPANION, an excuse for Ripley to express herself out loud when she's otherwise alone.
3) CATSHOCK, a cheap shock tactic in which the cat jumps out unexpectedly.
4) CATSCALLION, a wild card; at the end of the film, the cat might yet be harbouring an alien.

In short, one cannot overestimate the importance of Jones to Alien. This is his story.


Y-a-w-n. Was just having a pleasant dream about eviscerating a small family of fieldmice when the can-opener tipped me off her chest by sitting up. Impossible to go back to sleep with the can-openers all aflutter like this. S-t-r-e-t-c-h. They seem to think we're home. I could tell them we're not, but I'll leave them to work that out for themselves. No sense of direction, these people. But hey, since I'm awake, might as well take advantage of the situation to tuck into some moggynosh. I eat at the big table, like everyone else. I have my own bowl with JONES painted on the side so the can-openers won't steal my food.

Since it doesn't look as though anyone's going back into hypersleep any time soon, I do my usual patrol around the bowels of the ship. Yeah, no changes here. Everything just as I left it. But all that patrolling is exhausting, so I take a nap behind some nice warm pipes in one of the boiler rooms. Hmmmm. Hamsters. Crunchy little bones. Hmmmm..

Woken by the ship landing somewhere. Not Earth though, so go back to sleep. Woken again by a lot of shouting and neurotic activity coming from somewhere on the far side of the vessel. Honestly, can't these people show a hardworking feline any respect? But hey, since I'm up now, might as well go on the hunt for space rodents. Space rodents! Who am I kidding? No such thing, of course. When we first took off from earth, many cat-years ago, there was a family of rats nesting in the engine room, but I soon sorted them out. Maybe too soon; maybe I should have left them alone to breed a bit, so their descendants could have entertained me during the rest of the voyage. There's nothing left to hunt. Nothing. But how was I to know we'd be cooped up for so long? Anyhow, I offered generous gifts of dead rat to everyone in the crew, except the one who doesn't smell like the others; he tried to stroke me once, but got the rhythm all wrong and his fingers were too hard, so mainly I steer clear of him now.Doze off again in the utility room, then wake up for another round of patrolling, which wears me out, so I nap some more. Who needs hypersleep, eh? But all this exercise has made me hungry, so when I'm woken up by more noise and activity, this time coming from the region of the mess, I stroll over to see what's going on. Dinner time again! Yippee! There's a weird smell in the air, something I've never smelt before - maybe they found something new to eat on that planet we landed on - but before I get a chance to track it back to its source, my food is being set in front of me. Yum. I'm not sitting at the big table this time, but that's OK, they put my special bowl on the worktop behind the can-opener who's not like the others. I keep an eye on him as I'm eating, because he's behaving even more oddly than usual. He reminds me of me, when I'm wiggling my butt, preparing to pounce on a small edible creature. He's not a cat, though. I'm not sure what he is.

Anyhow, we're all tucking in together and everyone seems quite jolly when all of a sudden one of the other can-openers throws a fit and starts going into spasms on the table, and I realise the weird new smell has been coming from him all along.


*thanks Kyle & Willie!

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