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Fair warning: Later chapters will delve into drug and alcohol consumption and abuse. This isn't being written as a morality tale nor is it glorifying it, but being a musician, myself, I have seen it as part of the lifestyle.

Chapter 1

Take Me Back

There's a lot to put in this book, and I might forget some things or remember them differently than everyone else, but that's ok; this is how I remember them. After all, it's my life. I promise I'll tell all the good, the bad, the pretty, the ugly, the glitzy, and the gritty.

I suppose I should start at the beginning. I was born Kevin Frederick Korig on April 13, 1980 to Thomas Korig and Elizabeth Hassel. My dad was a full- blooded Inarian and my mother was full- blooded human. Since I'm male, I took on the fox ears and tail of my dad. It's caused me some trouble growing up, but I wouldn't trade my heritage for the world.

My dad was second generation and born in New Jersey. He had a typical childhood growing up. My grandparents were still coming to grips with living in the States and had to make adjustments, I'm sure. In high school he wrote for the school newspaper and even managed to get an interview with Bob Dylan.

Like so many young men of his generation, dad was drafted into the army when he graduated in 1968 and sent to Vietnam. He was assigned to the 101st Airborne just in time for the Battle of Hamburger Hill. After the Battle of Firebase Ripcord, he came home with a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star and used his experiences to write My Pen for a Sword which earned a Pulitzer Prize.

When dad got home, he used the GI Bill to get a degree in journalism at NYU. It was at college where he met mom.

My mom was four years younger than my dad and was mixed German- Irish descent. She grew up in the Bronx to a liberal family near Fordham University. Around high school, she became interested in photography and my grandparents surprised her with a Canon SLR. She spent whatever money she had adding lenses to her collection and went about documenting the neighborhood.

When the Doors came back to the Ed Sullivan Show in 1969, mom and her friend were able to forge convincing press passes to get into the show. She didn't get to meet Jim Morrisson, but she did manage to meet Ray Manzarek, the keyboard player. He was gracious enough to grant them a short interview which was published in the school newspaper. My parents seemed to have a lot in common.

In 1977, after they graduated, my mom became pregnant. Despite their liberal mindset, they they decided to get married and on January 17, 1978, my mom gave birth to my sister, Ari. They moved into an apartment in a walk- up in the East Village and two years later, I came along.

I don't really remember much about living there, except it was dangerous at night. This was punk rock, seedy, exciting New York which has been romanticized by a lot of people recently, but unless you were in it, you just don't know how bad it was.

I do remember one event, though. One summer night, I watched a guy literally die in front of my eyes. He walked into a corner of a vacant, trash-strewn lot across the street, where I watched him sit down with a bag and proceed to fix himself. Next thing I knew, he fell over on his side. He seemed to crawl, but I could've imagined it or may be remembering it different than what happened. All I know is there was eventually no movement and I stopped watching after I lost interest. The next morning, his body was loaded into an ambulance in a body bag and taken away.

It wasn't all bad, though. During the summer, the older kids would open a fire hydrant and we'd play in the stream of water. Cars would roll up their windows as they approached and get a free car wash. We'd play tag or hide and seek while our parents would talk to each other on the stoop or yell at us if we kids got out of hand. When the sun just started setting, you could smell food cooking from the open windows in the humid summer evenings. It was like a real community, something that's sadly missing today.

---

When I was 5, my dad published My Pen for a Sword, which became a best- seller and won a Pulitzer Prize. Soon, we moved to a three bedroom apartment in Chatham Towers near where the Five Points used to be. It was close enough that after the movers loaded the truck, we walked to our new home and beat the movers by five minutes. Even back then, New York traffic was that bad.

The new apartment was big and we weren't busy killing roaches anymore. Plus, my sister and I had our own rooms. The bad thing was, I felt isolated. We were the only family on the floor with kids our age; I missed my friends. So, what did I do? I went and paid them a visit.

I know walking to the old neighborhood was too dangerous, especially crossing Canal St and Houston St. So I walked two blocks south and got on the subway. I went into my parents' bedroom and borrowed a token from my dad while he was at work. I didn't say anything to anyone; I just walked to the station, took the 6 train two stops and walked back to my neighborhood.

When I went to the familiarity of my old block, I saw my friends playing basketball in the street and I went over to play. They were surprised to see me, but didn't question me too much. After about three hours, they had to go home and I realized I had no way back to my own home. I went to my friend Rico's house and rang his apartment. His mom was startled to see me by myself far from home. She called my parents and they were beside themselves looking for me. I didn't realize they were about to call the cops and file a missing child report. Of course, my mom came and got me and I was grounded for the first time in my life.

---

Two years later, a family moved into an apartment on our floor and this event changed my life forever. The Andersons had just moved into the city from Westchester to be closer to work. The husband just got promoted to district manager of a store chain and the wife was a stay at home mom. Since the office was on Fulton St, they moved to be closer, actually in walking distance. They had the energy of a blue- collar, middle- class suburban family, even though they were technically white- collar. There were two children, Mike, the older brother and Alice, the younger sister.

Mike and I quickly became best friends and I was excited to finally have someone my age to play with. Alice would always try to play with us, but he usually treated her like the annoying kid sister. I didn't mind having her around, although she was very curious about my tail and ears and quickly gave me the nickname "fuzzy ears." Mike picked up on this and used it to tease me, but it eventually became a term of endearment for his best friend. Needless to say, there weren't too many Inarians or Nekomatas where they came from in Westchester.

Our families got along and we always spent time with each other. We'd sleep over at each others' places and Alice found an older sister figure In Ari. She doted on her, the Inarian mothering instinct coming through. Even though we had our differences later, Ari really was the mom when mom was away from home on assignment. She would cook for us and fuss over me which would annoy me, but Mike developed a little bit of a crush on her because of it. One day when she decided to style his hair from a curly, tangled mess into something a bit more presentable, he grew especially fond of her. I snickered as he relished in the close contact and he kept coming over to have her work on his hair. Ari eventually figured out what he was doing and told him nicely he would have to start taking care of his own hair from now on.

It was also around this time that a new kid from Jamaica transferred to my class. His name was Jamal Turner and he was assigned to sit next to me. I thought he was cool, especially since he always shared his Batman comics with me. This was The Dark Knight and Killing Joke era, so it was like gold to me. Soon, he was hanging out with Mike and me on the playground and sleeping over at our houses. His family were salt of the earth people and his mom, Roberta, always fussed us in a very nice way. She was a tough woman, but very kind. His older brother Marvin was very smart and occasionally tutored us when we needed help with our grades.

We became an inseparable trio and anyone who tried to mess with one of us would have the other two to deal with. Jamal never got picked on too much, but Mike and I would since Mike was a little nerdy and I had my tail and ears. We'd get called all sorts of names and I'd get threatened to be hunted down and strung up like a fox or they'd cut off my tail and wear it. At the very least, they might ask me to wag it like a "good dog," bark at me or pant at me, or pull my tail. The latter would send me into a rage and I got into some bad fights because of it. Sometimes I'd win, sometimes I wouldn't, but Mike and Jamal would usually find out who did it and beat them up later. For a kid that kind of looked like a hobbit, Mike could scrap when he had to.

One instance was very unnerving for me and it was instigated by total strangers, becoming a pivotal moment in my life. I was walking home from school, usually Mike would be with me, but he had an errand to run, so I was alone. I was walking down the Bowery and two older guys started following me. I was about 10 and they began making cat calls and saying some creepy things like, "when we're done with you little baby fox, we'll hang your tail on our door and feed the rest of you to the rats."

Now, normally, this wouldn't phase me too much, but I was alone and I didn't recognize these guys to know what they were capable of. These guys weren't the punk rockers that hung out in the area and say things to throw you off. These were creepy guys that looked like they came into the city cruising for kids. I walked faster than I usually did and tried to time the crosswalk at Houston St, so that traffic would keep them from crossing, but I didn't make it. My heartbeat quickened, my mouth went dry, and even though there were plenty of places to go, I felt trapped. Part of me wanted to start crying, but I didn't want to show weakness.

"Oooooh, look at that luscious fur, hey Troy, imagine how that would feel," said one in a seriously creepy way.

I let out a whimper that I tried not to make obvious and hoped beyond hope that the light would change soon. I felt my body go cold and felt limp when I felt a hand begin stroking my tail. I wanted to cry, but I froze. In a city of millions of people who could be potential witnesses, I felt utterly alone and vulnerable. I just wished for them to go away, either by magic or their own accord, but they didn't. I hoped that something would happen that would get me out of there. Then I heard a loud thud and when I looked behind me, I saw one of the guys on the ground curled up grabbing his head and the other taking off down the street.

"Ya fuckin' pervert! You get awf awn touchin' little kids?! I aughta cut ya fuckin' dick awf an shove it down yer troat!!"

This heavyset, middle aged guy in a tank top was standing over him with a liquor bottle in his hand. I recognized him as one of the guys that hung out in front of the Sunshine Hotel, a flophouse just up the block.

"Are ya awright kid?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

"Yeah, I'm ok, thank you," I answered, in shock at what just happened.

"He didn't touch ya aw nuthin' did he?" he looked at me sternly, making sure I wasn't holding something back.

"No, just my tail right before you killed him," I said.

"Well, he ain't dead, but he'll wish he was when I get tru wit' 'im," he cackled. "Now, get awn home to ya mommy, she's waitin' faw ya." He reeked of liquor and b.o., and even though society threw him out as a useless drunk, he seemed like an angel in my eyes.

"Ok," and I ran across the street when the light changed. Later, I went looking for him to thank him and I found out he died from liver disease. I was really sad about it; I mean, here was this total stranger who stood up for a kid that he didn't even know and he died alone in pain and squalor. Later, I dedicated our third album to his memory, even though I never knew his name.

Conversely, that event also made me more aware of how different I really was. For the first time in my life I was singled out for my appearance and the result could've been dangerous. Before, it was just schoolyard bullying and I could deal with it. Now, the outside world invaded me in an intimate way and I couldn't do anything about it.

When I got home, I maintained my composure. That is until I saw my mom straightening out the living room. She looked at me frustrated because I left a comic book on the couch.

"Kevin, how many times do I have to tell you to not leave your stuff out. Put it away when you're done," she said, upset and threw the comic at me to catch. I just let it hit me and looked down and began crying.

Mom just looked at me sternly with her arms folded, "What's wrong?"

I ran over to her and buried my head in her arms and just let it all out. I didn't tell her what happened, not because I thought I would get in trouble, but because I just didn't want to relive the experience. She just stroked my head and ears, which always comforted me. I felt safe again.

---

"Have you heard this song, man?! It's incredible!!"

It was 1992 and Wayne's World had just come out. Mike, Jamal, and I were walking home from school when Mike was gushing about yet another new thing he discovered. It became something we got used to, so we didn't really react with much enthusiasm. I took the bait, anyway.

"What song?"

Funny to say now, but I wasn't really into music yet. It was just something to put on in the background. I mean, I liked Prince, Michael Jackson, and De La Soul at the time, but I was a passive listener who only owned five cassettes.

"Bohemian Rhapsody. It's by this seventies group called Queen!"

Mike's enthusiasm didn't really catch me. He showed me a cd of the Wayne's World soundtrack, but I wasn't interested.

"Nah, never heard of it, but I'm supposed to see the movie with Ari this weekend," I answered.

"Guys, come over to my house. You have to listen to this song!" he said, standing in front of me and Jamal. It was clear he wasn't relenting.

"I don't know if my mom will let me," Jamal protested. He was grounded for getting low grades in science class by his parents.

"We can stop by and ask if you can come over. Shit, you can crash with me. Come on, this song is fucking awesome!"

Mike finally brow beat us. We knew he wouldn't give up until we gave in. So we stopped by Jamal's place and his mother gave us some trouble, but let him come over since his last test showed a huge improvement.

When we got to Mike's, Jamal and I sat on the couch. Mike turned the stereo on and put the cd in. It was the first track on the disc and Mike scrambled to the couch as we focused on the speakers, waiting to see what his new obsession was about.

Even being half-Inarian, my ears are still more sensitive than most humans, but not quite to the point of a full- blooded Inarian. Some say this is an advantage, and I don't disagree. When the song started with the harmonies, it hit my ears perfectly. The haunting, melodramatic piano caught my attention and spoke to me in a way I can't describe.

Then... he sang.

My fur stood on edge; the singing was perfect, it was emotional, the lyrics were chilling, the timbre of his voice just resounded. He went from soft and vulnerable to clear and anguished with no effort. It wasn't just a song; it was the performance of a lifetime. It was as if he sang like it would be the last song he would ever sing. He was Freddie Mercury and I can honestly say I found what I wanted to be... I wanted to be him.

Once the song was over, I turned down the volume. I turned to Mike and Jamal and said the words, "We have to do this!"

Jamal and Mike looked at each other and back at me and smiled. The seed of what was to come was sewn. At the age of 11, we set our track to become rock stars.

Little did I know at the time, but across the East River in Jackson Heights, Queens, a certain half-Nekomata was going to have a similar experience in a couple of years, but with a certain half-black, half-Cherokee guitarist from Seattle, WA that also died too young.