Once upon a time, immediately after moving into my current
apartment, I told a mentor of mine that I was thinking about adopting a
four-legged baby, most likely a cat. She was neither encouraging nor supportive.
“That cat will only hold you back,” she argued, “you’re too
young and unsettled to give up your freedom. Right before you leave town for a
week, 7 out of 10 times, the downtown or Bronx-based buddy who agreed to feed
it while you’re away will dick you over at the last second, mark my words.”
(These are bits and pieces of an impassioned 15-minute monologue, not unlike an
attorney’s closing argument, pleading with a jury to keep a defendant off death
row.) “What you need is a cat room. A
place where you can show up and play with a cat whenever you get bored or depressed
or sick of it all, without being the one responsible for the cat’s welfare.”
Didn’t know such rooms existed (and doubt she knew either)
until skimming an
article in the local paper a couple of months ago. A cat café recently
opened in Chinatown. $4 to spend half an hour in a room with cats. There’s a
waiting list.
I’d been looking forward to it ever since I reserved my spot
in January. On the day of your appointment, you’re allowed to spend more than
the initial 30 minutes with the cats, but I promised myself I wouldn’t dare because
I’d get too attached and adopt one, something I’m in no position
to do at the moment. It’s like going to a hooker - you get in, collect what you
came for, and get out. Anything beyond that is too risky.
I expected private rooms (one customer in a room with at
least one assigned cat) - the type of delusion that can crop up after you’ve
skimmed, and not studied, an article. There was one room, in total, filled with
many cats and many people. Most of the cats were sleeping. Most of the awake
ones weren’t impressed with us, even me. We were an imposition. It turned into
half an hour of respecting the cats’ personal space.
Dogs would love a room like this. A larger, local, partially
outdoor dog café, nothing too bougie – great idea! But, per usual, another
hustle-happy Manhattanite (or two of them, it seems) has already beaten me to
the punch: See “NYC's First Dog Cafe in Development Now,” available at http://www.amny.com/lifestyle/dog-cafe-in-nyc-1.9814188.
On my way out, a person walking by cornered me about how things went - her first appointment is next month. I told her it was good, but most of the cats were sleeping.“But you can still pet a sleeping cat, right?" she asked. "No one will try to stop you?” Now here’s someone who doesn’t get cats, or animals, or just anyone really. Would you want a stranger fondling you while you’re sound asleep?
A cat café? I thought I'd seen it all. Well, I've got two cats and they're not holding me back. Seems to me I'm holding them back. No, that's not a joke.
ReplyDeleteVery amused by Blue Grumpster's comment. After I saw "Cats" on Broadway, I was totally convinced (for a little while) that cats are more human than we are. For about ten minutes I longed for a cat.
ReplyDeleteMy daughter has been talking about getting a dog. She is an adult and she has her own apartment, so she can do as she likes, but I view a dog as responsibility in the extreme -- I can tell you who is NOT going to walk it when she is out of town? I will say, in support of the idea, that several people have told me that they met the love of their life while walking their dog.
Thank you, jk. How are you today?
DeleteActually the only time my cat purrs when I pat him is when he is sound asleep, other times he merely tolerates it. Makes me wonder at times who he is dreaming I am.
ReplyDeleteCats are very independent, and you can go away for several days safely even if your cat sitter falls through. There are auto-waterers/feeders to make this possible.
ReplyDeleteThe Cat
by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
The cat
licks its paw and
lies down in
the bookshelf nook
She
can lie in a
sphinx position
without moving for so
many hours
and then turn her head
to me and
rise and stretch
and turn
her back to me and
lick her paw again as if
no real time had passed
It hasn't
and she is the sphinx with
all the time in the world
in the desert of her time
The cat
knows where flies die
sees ghosts in motes of air
and shadows in sunbeams
She hears
the music of the spheres and
the hum in the wires of houses
and the hum of the universe
in interstellar spaces
but
prefers domestic places
and the hum of the heater