The Lord of the 1 Copy of CatOwl

Giving away The 1 Copy of CatOwl to David Sedaris felt like sacrificing my queen. Afterward, at a bar called The Blue Duck, I pensively ordered 3 drinks: a club soda, a Coca-Cola, and a shot of tequila.

CatOwl is a children’s book for adults. For six years, seven illustrators helped me build its 19-masterpiece spreads into the chimera-universe: VallhallOlympus. The 7th illustrator, Maria Koalas, and I created 3 failed hardcover misprints. Then I constructed The 1 Copy with a mirror page of Mylar. The lore of The 1 Copy resembles The Lord of The Rings:

3 misprint copies for queens who encouraged this poetic-guy

from 7 illustrators who visualized what I wrote.

19 masterpieces made the lyrics come alive!

Then the 1st Copy in The Golden Owl sat alonein the land of New London where the artists strive.1 Copy to spread them all.

1 hardcover binds them.1 Copy to show them all.

And at The Golden Owl: find themin the land of New London where the artists strive.

The 3 queens who received the misprints were my mother: Carol Guthrie, who helped me become the writer I am; my friend Shaina, who was recovering from getting hit by a car, and the bartender Sofia, who is a great bartender. When The 1 Copy hardcover finally arrived, The-Good-Witch-Wendy displayed it as a not-for-sale-item in her shop of curiosities: The Golden Owl.

There it remained, above the couch by the window, for 3 wintery months.

--

On an afternoon in April 2026, a pretty woman exchanges a smile with me as I freestyle with Ty, the jazz guitarist, on the bench outside The Golden Owl. A few hours later Queen-Sofia brings me a fish sandwich for the last time (because she quit that job); I rhyme about our good times, but am cut short as I must get to The Garde Performance Art Center for David Sedaris’s book signing.

I arrive, The-Good-Witch-Wendy sells me a copy of The Best Of Me from her satellite bookstore which consists solely of David Sedaris books. Wendy writes, “Carol,” on a sticky note she pastes on the title page.

In front of an audience of 800, David mentions a story about a woman who once asked why he has so many markers at his signing table, “That’s like me going to your place of work and asking why you have so many condoms.” He replied.

At the front of the book-signing line, David makes eye contact with me as he chews the last piece of food from a nearly empty plate where a lone lemon wedge sits. Seeing me for the first time, he offers it, “Lemon wedge?” I put in my mouth like a yellow orange slice and smile as I tear the rind off and chew. He chuckles, and for some unknown reason asks, “Is your name Brock?” I swallow the flesh and seeds then speak, “I go by many names such as: Tweak, Joker, and Rapgician - Carol’s my mother." He grabs 2 yellow markers and a black one, “is Rapgician like a rap magician?”

“Yes, precisely correct.”Doodling, David tells me how he and his husband were bombarded by a gang of Columbian freestyle rappers - then, to my surprise, freestyles, “Hey, I’m David and I’m real proud - sometimes its fun to clown out loud!” I bite my sour tongue despite a temptation to riff along - there will be plenty of TweakUnique shows, today is the David Sedaris show. My now inked book reads, “To Carol, THE BEST OF MEN WHO EAT 🍋”

Head held high, I walk away with my prize.

But, The-Good-Witch-Wendy intercepts me with fast-speak that begins with a sharp inhale, “Andrew, will you help me bring these books back to The Golden Owl? You totally don’t have to.”

I have to.

Armed with a green cart from The Garde, Wendy and I scoot hundreds of pounds of David Sedaris books a couple blocks to The Golden Owl while I freestyle about “...the beat of the cart thudding on the street bereft of my sense: it keeps pulling left…”

Perched above the couch of The Golden Owl: The 1 Copy stares at me, willing itself toward an author of great power. I place it on the green cart which we return to The Garde. The cart feels heavier. I tell Wendy, “Maybe he’ll hear my story!” My hopeful face resembles a panting puppy unknowingly about to be neutered.

At the Garde, I witness David mark up the night’s final doodle. Storytime’s over. David begins packing his markers and notices an abridged version of Moby Dick on his table - he exclaims, “Who left this?” A woman, clearly not the Moby-Dicker, asks, “Oh, David - are you accepting gifts?” David responds, “Sure, but who gave me this?”I involuntarily step back hugging The 1 Copy - then look toward Wendy with fearful contemplation, “I want to give him this, should I give him this?” Wendy glances at my dilated pupils, “I don’t know...” After a few moments of deliberation I drop the only proof it exists on the table and state faintly, “This is a gift for you.” I stare at The 1 Copy for a couple seconds. It is hard to breathe as I retreat backward through the hallway in a harrowed, hollow, way.

Minutes later it is now past 11 PM, I am alone at the bar of The Blue Duck, I sit with it. I can make another one. But I can never make another first one. “I’ll have a club soda, a Coca-Cola, and a shot of tequila.”