Krusty Noodles was killer.
Birds, rabbits, and backyard rodents stood no chance when this feline assassin was on the prowl. But to Krusty's humans, he was a lover, someone to hug and lick ears. And when the cat's nine lives ran out, his people could barely bear to say goodbye.
“I said, 'I wish I could have him forever,'” said Kate Swan, an artist who lives in Jenkintown, Pennsylvania.
That gave Swann's husband an idea.
Krusty Noodles' hunter spirit lives on. His head and paws bear for posterity the carcasses of mice that he had bitten triumphantly with his kitten teeth.
“It's the centerpiece of my table. It's really the centerpiece of our house,” Swan said. “I know it's crazy, but I'm like, 'Oh, Krusty, what a champion.'
“Beth has done a great job.”
That person is Beth Beverly, 46, the owner of Diamond Tooth Taxidermy. A native of Delaware County and trained as an artist, he entered this ancient craft for the beauty of pets, not their protection. But along the way, Beverly found a calling that allowed her to serve others in a vulnerable moment.
“If I can give them tangible evidence to help them overcome their grief, that's what I want to do,” Beverly said.
The demand for her pet protection skills is increasing and the trend is reflected globally. According to global market research firm Astute Analytica, the global pet storage market, valued at $87.6 million in 2022, will grow by 2031 due to increased pet ownership and spending on pets, especially in developed countries. It is expected to make more than $111.4 million.
Today, pet rescue is a large part of Beverley's practice, followed by haute couture and other decorative items such as jewelry and furniture. Making hunting trophies isn't her hobby, she said, but when she does, she makes sure to eat at least some of it out of respect for the animal. She sampled coyotes and foxes.
Some veteran taxidermists frown on the idea of protecting pets. “They feel like if you're painting a dog or a cat, you're cheapening the art,” she says.
But Beverly is no old guard. She is a member of MART (Minnesota Rogue Taxidermist Association). The group has a national membership and its name speaks for itself.
From art to taxidermy
Taxidermy wasn't always planned. After graduating from high school, Beverly studied her design in jewelry at the Tyler School of Art. She also attended a circus school to receive trapeze training. For a while, she found work as a mock patient for medical training.
Beverly was working as a window dresser at the now-defunct discount retailer Duffy's in Center City, Philadelphia, when she started noticing dead birds during her lunch break.
“My heart broke because I thought it was going to rot on the sidewalk or get stepped on, so I decided to pick it up and take it home,” Beverly said.
So she took off her wings, marveled at their beauty, and thought, “Don't you think this would look good on my hair?”
So she got a book on taxidermy from the library and tried to teach herself. Her family and friends were unfazed.
“They were basically like, 'Oh, that's Beth.' This is her next job.”
But it was more than that.
So Beverly enrolled in Bill Allen's Pocono Taxidermy Institute. At first, she created some trophy mounts for hunters, but she was always drawn to fanciful creations. She made hats from birds, squirrels and all kinds of feathers and wore them to equestrian events such as the Devon Horse Show. That earned her her notice and commission.
One of those pieces, a friend's dead dog wearing a tiara and a cape on a velvet pillow, won an avant-garde taxidermy contest in Brooklyn. That opened the door. She was invited to appear on AMC's taxidermy reality show “Immortalized.” The props manager came to her because the Netflix series Stranger Things needed ethically sourced squirrels. She was also featured in HBO's “The Righteous Gemstones.” She has given lectures and workshops on taxidermy at the University of the Arts, the Wagner Free Science Institute, and Morbid Anatomy in New York. She has worked locally at the Franklin Institute and the Academy of Natural Sciences, and as far away as hunting exhibitions in Transylvania.
Three freezers and a sense of honor
But pet rescue (also known as “companion aftercare”) currently occupies most of her efforts. In her Elkins Park home, she has three freezers that are always full of dead creatures.
Her work is intimate, and Beverly takes seriously the trust people place in her.
“I love that people trust me,” said Beverly, who hopes to become a human death doula in the future. “It's a great honor.”
The death of Kaya Tinsman's dog Rosco at age 12 was a huge loss for the Perkasie artist.
“He was there for me through breakups and relationships and when I first lived on my own,” said Tinsman, 39. “He was my rock. He was my soulmate.”
Like all animals in Beverly's care, this dog had to be frozen as soon as possible after death. Tinsman still remembers Beverly's kindness in allowing him to reschedule multiple times to say goodbye to Rothko's body.
“We had plans, but we weren’t ready,” Tinsman said. “She was very patient and accepting of my grieving process.”
Beverly's work is as unique as animals and the relationships between animals and people. Often, her customers want parts of their pets as keepsakes.
“I ask my clients, 'What part of your cat or dog do you value most? Do you like to hold their paws? Do you like the way their tail wags?' “Do you like the way your ears droop?” she said.
Even when preserving animals whole, her goal is to capture their spirit.
When tattoo artist Alexandra Fish, 34, brought her pet rat Bijou to Beverley to rescue, “I told her she was my spoiled little princess.'' By the way,” he said.
Bijou is now standing on the purple velvet pillow that Beverly sewed for her. She wears a tiara and has a ring on her foot that Beverly made for her. her nails are polished.
Professional magician Lindsay Noel's rabbit Herman had quite a personality. “He was always a flashy little guy,” Noel, 38, told Beverley at the time of his death.
Herman's stuffed animal is currently wearing a classy top hat and carrying a cane on top of the piano in Noel's Cobbs Creek, Pennsylvania, home.
“I still love seeing him,” she said. “He was such an important part of the formative years of my life and it's kind of beautiful to have him here as I grow and move forward. It's part of my old life. And we're bringing it into this next chapter.”
Pet owners who rely on Beverly say they take comfort in knowing some of their animals are still with them.
Mars Oraschey, 27, and his American Eskimo/Pomeranian mix, Rio, have been together ever since Oraschey was a teenager. The little dog's favorite place is riding on Oraschey's shoulder.
When Rio died last year, Oraschey, who was studying to be a taxidermist, sent the dog to Beverly from his home in Wisconsin.
Rio's soft white coat is made into a shawl-like cloak. A neckpiece of Rio's jaw and teeth completes the monument.
“The only time he felt safe was when he was on my shoulder,” Orashei said.
Oraschey, a manager at an insulation company, said he wasn't ready to don the cape yet. But that time will come.
“One day I'll come home from work, sit down, put this on, and think about it.”
Zuleika Polanco, 34, never thought she would consider taxidermy for her pet.
“I thought, 'No way, I would never do that.' That was so weird. I couldn't bear to see my pet like that.” But, she added. “You never know how you’re going to react until something happens.”
What happened was that her husky, Keiko, became ill and died at a young age. Beverly prepared the dog's skull, which now forms part of Polanco and his wife's meditation area in their Willingboro home. They keep Keiko's fur in a woven basket.
“Most of the time, when I'm home alone, I sometimes open him up and pet him or rub his ears,” said the Amazon fleet manager. “When I see him there, I feel like I'm still taking care of him and I feel some kind of peace.”
Kate Swan wasn't immediately sold on the idea of having her cat Krusty Noodles stuffed when her husband first suggested it.
“I was like, 'That's disgusting!'” I just want to keep his memory in my head. I don't need a dead cat. It's a death parade. ' I was just surprised. ”
But her husband loved the idea, so she started telling Beverly, a fellow artist she had known for some time, about her irrepressible hunting cat.
Krusty is now in charge of the family's dining room, prey, and everything else.
“When my husband's friends come over, they literally say, 'What's the (expletive)?' Is that a real cat? And when I tell them about it, they're like, 'Oh my god, so much.' That’s cool.’”
And often that leads to Krusty stories that are just as funny in death as they were in life.
“It’s very comfortable,” Swan said. “I love taxidermy cats.”
