It was way too early that morning to deal with the band, but I opened the door anyway when Greg rang the bell. I remember it being overcast and brisk; it was 6am and Greg Lee's happy, grinning face might as well have been the sunrise. They'd showed up with a van and trailer rented from the airport (which was right by my house), and we were about to embark on a 10-day West Coast tour with the legendary Skatalites. It was 1993, and our first stop was San Francisco.
Dave, on the other hand, was barely awake. I imagined that he must have been up much earlier if Greg picked him up all the way from Newhall. He muttered a "'morning" and sat on the living room carpet, eyelids heavy. Greg and I got my gear and bags and began loading them onto the trailer, careful not to slip on the dew-laden front lawn. After a couple trips back and forth, I came inside to see Dave fast asleep, his head on a makeshift pillow made from a jumbled jacket. My mom chuckled, a giddy, little-girl kind of chuckle that she stifled as she pointed at him—"Look! Look!" she whispered excitedly. "The kitten's sleeping on top of him!"
Greg and I looked closer, and sure enough, nestled in the perfectly comfy plateau of Dave's side was my grey kitten, whose belly rose and fell in unison with Dave's deep breath of sleep. I went and grabbed my camera, and hoped the flash wouldn't wake them. It didn't.
We left them like that until all my gear was packed. We said bye to my mom, and my skin prickled...not from the cold air, but more from the realization that we were heading out on what was to be, in my opinion, the best thing to ever happen to us—a tour with our biggest inspiration, The Skatalites.
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