Dead cat, dead rat
Can’t you see what they were at?
Fat cat in a top hat
Thinks he’s an aristocrat
Thinks he can kill and slaughter
Thinks he can shoot my daughter
Yeah right! Oh yeah!
— Jim Morrison
Crazy cat peakin’, through a lace bandana,
Like a one-eyed Cheshire,
Like a diamond-eyed jack,
A leaf of all colors plays a golden string fiddle,
On a Double-E waterfall, Over my back
— Jerry Garcia and Robert Hunter
About that cat. Is it alive or dead? I really don’t know and will ask for your help in answering.
But before I do, we’ve got a couple of housekeeping items with which to attend.
First, there’s the demise of Meat. I really don’t have a great deal to convey here. He wrote one song about a girl extracting a “love me to the end of time” promise for him in exchange for her yielding her favors to him. Which he subsequently came to regret. It’s catchy but sticks in your brain — and not in a good way.
My own feeling is that he hit his peak with his role as Eddie, the fricasseed, leather-clad motorcycler, served up as the main course in the Rocky Horror feast scene.
I think Dr. Frank N Furter offered the best epitaph for him:
“It was a mercy killing. He had a certain naïve charm.
“But. No. Muscle.”
And we’ll leave it at that.
And now, I’ve got to return to Teddy. One last time. I promise.
I don’t blame you for tagging me as Teddy-obsessed.
But now he’s gone:
Before and After:
Heck, I don’t even like Teddy that much. He balled out like a boss in the Spanish-American War and created our fabulous National Parks system. But he was also a self-promoting loose cannon, and, back in 1904, his trust-busting shenanigans cost my family’s financial empire a pretty penny.
Still and all, it was sad to see him hoisted, in undignified fashion, by a crane, and onto a cargo vehicle adjacent on Central Park West.
Off he went. To the Dakota Badlands. But the charge up San Juan Hill it was not.
Now, back to the cat.
In case anyone is confused, I’m referring to Schrödinger’s Cat – an obtuse, theoretical feline who, according to certain theories of quantum energy, is alive and dead at the same time. Schrödinger and Einstein debated this, and never reached a proper conclusion.
Is the cat alive? Is it dead? Is it both?
The best answer I can produce is yes. And, presumably, Kierkegaard would agree.
And, again, so it goes with the markets. Which for the moment are under enormous pressure.
Are they alive? Are they dead? Both?
As of now, and after posting the worst week registered by risk assets since the onset of the pandemic, our equity indices are resting at multi-month lows.
Our beloved BTC is also on the ropes.
In addition, credit markets are in dangerous fall:
Are stocks preparing themselves for the proverbial dead cat bounce? Will the debt markets land on their furry little feet?
Will Bitcoin come roaring back in leonine fashion?
I reckon the answer will unfold at an accelerating pace over the next few weeks. That wily polecat Chair Pow will announce the latest FOMC wisdom on Wednesday. Surveys suggest he will stand pat on rates and taper timing, but I wouldn’t bet it all on this. He’s a shifty mofo, and if he makes an unexpected turn, it’s unlikely to be in a pleasing direction.
Earnings loll forward like an overfed tabby, with all the big jungle cat names – save Microsoft – holding their purring tongues till the calendar rolls into February.
We get our first glance at Q4 GDP on Thursday, with numbers looking like they’ll clock in at a low 5 handle.
It’s all so wretchedly confusing. By way of illustrating what a tangle of yarn we currently confront, consider that just days after Jamie Dimon heralded a huge surge for the capital economy, one that would compel the Fed to hike as many as six times this year, JPM’s own Fixed Income Strategist predicted a massive slowdown.
Does anybody over there talk to each other? What on earth are they advising their clients to do? Well, at least they’ve managed to convey the market equivalent of Schrödinger’s Cat – both alive and dead. Whether or no one chooses to put investment dollars behind such a fickle feline is another matter.
My own view, on balance, though, is that the cat is alive. Otherwise, why are we perpetually compelled to change an over-filled litterbox? It’s looking rather shabby and does not appear to be overly inclined to nuzzle up onto our laps.
But it is still huffing up hairballs and menacing mice. Its claws are still sharp. It is, beyond this, and whether dead or alive, prone to lay a bounce or two upon us.
So, much as I’d like to give y’all a rest, my best advice is to keep at the struggle. I have a hunch that this here cat, at least at these levels, may be working up some bovine sensibilities. And who knows? You may even have some of those allotted nine lives stored in your hopper.
But with that, I take my leave, offering the following, parting salutation:
Keep In Touch/Call A Ton.
Yup, please KITCAT. Like Einstein did with Schrödinger. Like Meat was forced to do with his dateturned- lifelong-partner.
I’ll cut you a break and cut off ties with Teddy, but other than that, it’s the only way to ride.
TIMSHEL