Its been ten years since Samuri Pizza Cats, ten years since I became a fangirl, at least, up in my own headspace. I’d made up stories about cartoon characters before, but that was just kid stuff. I was ten when they started wanting to be written down.

I remember it was my dad who first introduced me to it. I bet he wishes he hadn’t, now. At first, I refused, because it looked stupid, but after a few minutes I realized that I was truly enjoying the show. It only took a few episodes for me to be completely dedicated to it. I refused to miss an episode no matter what. (I think the only reason I still have memories of being in the welfare office, when all of my other memories of the period are pretty much not there, is because SPC was playing on the television, but that was rather later.)

What happened was after I had begun watching SPC I started having these dreams. They weren’t exactly dreams because they were happening when I was at that point where you’re falling asleep, but you’re not quite unconscious yet. I started ‘dreaming’ that The Big Cheese had built some kind of a machine that would transport a warrior who could defeat the SPC from another dimension in to his. (Yes, that was the first time that idea occurred to me)

The dreams disturbed me a little bit, because when I was ten I had pretty much declared myself too mature for things like that. But I couldn’t stop the dreams, they weren’t voluntary. I remember trying every night thinking to myself, NO! and trying to get my mind on some other topic. Day and night my thoughts returned to SPC. It was my first obsession, and probably my strongest. I hadn’t had any practice dealing with them then.

The character I most admired was of course, Bad Bird, the leader of the ninja crows. Well, not really the leader, since he took orders (usually) from Cheese, and Jerry Atrick, but the general. I dreamed that he taught me to sneak like a ninja, and to wield a sword. I dreamed I snuck up on Speedy and stole the ginyu sword from him while the cats were making their introductory speeches.

Eventually my conscious mind triumphed over my unconscious mind, and I stopped having the dreams. But the very first night I was free of them, I realized I missed and had enjoyed them, and allowed my self to sink back into such thought. I’ll be mature in a few moths, I thought to myself.

My 11th birthday rolled around and I told myself I’d quit on the 12th, the 12 I told my self the 13th, and thirteen I said 15. At 15 I stopped bothering to lie to myself.

Of course as time went on, long before I was 15, I moved on to fiction that was, if ever so slightly more mature than the SPC.

But the world of little Tokyo will always, always hold a special place in my heart. One day, when I’m able to dream again as well as I could when I was ten, I’ll go back like I promised my mentor I would, all those years of nights ago.

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