I've decided to adopt a cat. I've never adopted a cat in New York before, but I'm learning that just like everything else (finding an apartment, buying groceries, being alone), it's harder in New York than it is in other places. For one thing, there seem to be as many cats in need of homes as there are people in this city. And if you merely suggest that you might potentially possibly maybe want to take a cat home and give it food, you are suddenly very popular with a certain cat-placement demographic.
You're told about shy cats, abused cats, feral cats, cats who've just given birth, cats who've just been born, cats with medical problems, cats who are "GORGEOUS!!," and cats who are going to get put to death immediately if you heartlessly refuse them. I've come to realize that no matter what happens, I'm going to disappoint a lot of passionate people, because I can only say yes to one.
One outlet I've been using is a service that lists animals' pictures and personalities in an online dating format. Although the profiles' descriptions tend to be generously positive, it's not uncommon to come across cats that are clearly damaged. It's made me feel guilty for even considering a cat that still has both of its eyes, or one that doesn't flinch at the touch of a human hand.
But I'm trying to give myself some allowances here -- for example, it's okay if the cat is attractive and friendly; it doesn't mean that I'm a snob. You'd think that that allowance wouldn’t be too difficult, but I find it narrows the field quite a bit. I'd also like a cat that’s okay living as a single cat but wouldn't mind feline roommates, and I think I want an adult.
On Wednesday night I went to Astoria, Queens to meet Rose*, one of my top two choices. Rose's caretaker warned me in an email that Rose is a "hider" and that I may have to make some furniture adjustments in my apartment, but she also told me that Rose was incredibly sweet and that I "can't go wrong with Rose."
Rose didn't live in an office environment, as I expected, but in a house with a human family and 20 other cats. When I walked through the front door, I found myself standing in an average American living room, complete with people sitting on the couch watching TV and eating potato chips. The difference was that there were cats everywhere you looked, lounging around with their tails lazily beating against the furniture, and the house smelled overwhelmingly like urine.
Rose lived in the basement, in a 4-foot by 5-foot screened-in area. Rose's owner, Hope, descended before me, so that she could "prepare" Rose for our visit, which included putting food out, to coax her out of the straw bag where she'd hidden for 90 percent of her life. Then Hope handed me a white lab coat, so that I wouldn’t mess up my clothes, and left me alone to acquaint myself with Rose, who was so frightened and tense that her body felt more like a fur-covered brick than it did a soft, fleshy animal.
I sat there for several minutes -- wearing the white lab coat, in a screened-in corner of a basement in Queens, holding my hand toward a shaking ball of cat, inhaling the smell of urine -- wondering how long I should stay in order to show the polite amount of interest. As much as I felt sorry for Rose, I realized pretty quickly that I couldn't take her. I suspect that even though Rose is only 7 years old and is constantly on the market, that Hope's house is inevitably Rose's final home.
At one point Hope's husband, a beefy and friendly man, came down to check on me, to see how Rose and I were doing. When he entered the screened-in area with me, it occurred to me for the first time that no one knew where the hell I was. When he left the screened-in area and the door made a latching sound, I was instantly reminded of The Collector, a book about a man who kidnaps a girl and keeps her in his basement. Lucky for me, though, these people are just into cats, apparently.
A few minutes later Hope came down, too, to show me that Rose would learn to relax in my arms, just as she naturally does with her. To demonstrate, she picked up Rose, who was clearly struggling to free herself, and said forcefully, "See? She can be just like this with you!" When I asked Hope if Rose was at all playful, she admitted that she'd never seen Rose play, ever, which I think was the most telling (and saddest) information she gave me all evening.
They showed me a few more cats up for adoption (all of the three bathrooms were filled with stacked cages of cats), but none was a match.
Tonight I have a date with June, a silver lady who wears a tuxedo and has bright green eyes. I'll let you know how it goes.
*names have been changed!
Photos I took at Lucha Libre, an annual wrestling match in the middle of an intersection in Clinton Hill, Brooklyn.
