I was five when Thriller caught my attention, and every time it came on MTV (you know, back in the day when MTV was actually music.television?) I sat spellbound. That's no small feat for ADD-riddled kids who can't sit still for .5 seconds, let alone for the duration of a music video that went on FOR. E. VER. I loved Thriller so much I named my cat Jackson. She was a rescue that a creepy lady went door-to-door offering to the first person who would say yes. How could my parents say no to a little girl begging for this kitty? Jackson was black with a white underbelly - literally black and white. How ironic when you think about it, no?
So when I think about Michael Jackson's death, it's not so much about him than it is for my first cat that I loved so much. My own little black and white thriller.
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