And so we come to the end of the first book of Arthur’s misadventures, "The 7 Lives of the Punk Poofy Cat", a howling psychodrama, yeah, but he had to squeeze some enjoyment from his misery-guts and write it as funny satire. (But there's only 6 lives in this epic tome, you might discover. Well, if he stays alive, he might get to write Book 2, "Public Enemy Number 7", in which he chases movie stardom and is in turn chased by the cops, and that will constitute the tale of his 7th life. If there are two more for the proverbial 9 cat's lives, only old age will tell.)
As an homosexual libertarian, pagan trickster and tripped-out wastrel, he found himself an anti-hero, and his tales picaresque, a loner and a drifter, who had no final destination and achieved no grand goal. While in future he would try to make himself a movie star, the tag of “great artist” eluded him, he was shoved to the back of the queue and reduced to cringe-worthy desperate acts, as many of his anecdotes attest, and that's how we'll leave him, hanging.
He was reminded of Isherwood's novel "Christopher and His Kind", the rise of Nazism in Berlin and the public burning of "decadent" books. Soon this text may disappear, read it while you can; while he hoped to make it over to Amazon/Kindle Books on demand, Artie wasn’t sure he could stay alive long enough to make it happen, or if he’d be allowed to. The Conservatives were taking over in Auz , homophobes who ruled the mass media could initiate medieval pogroms at the press of a button, even after supposed "gay lib" times, there really do exist absolute enemies of homo happiness and gay marriage equality, relegating them back to the dark parks and toilets, where they belong as dirty night-crawlers.