In the past thirty years that I’ve lived in this apartment, it was a rare occasion that, when I ran into Judy, my neighbor in 3D, she did not ask, Are you sure you don’t want a cat? I have a friend who’s looking for homes.
I always turned her offers down, although I had told her that I liked cats and that my parents’ home, when I was growing up, was filled with animals.
There were our first dog Sandy, a shepherd-collie mix; cats Fred and Ethel who ended up as farm cats with my mother’s sister Lois; a tortoise who lived for years in the basement; my brother Randy’s hamsters, gerbils, and guinea pigs; my brother Tom’s beagle, basset hound, and, later, Irish setters. And then there was Ming-Toy, the beautiful Siamese kitten I was given as a Christmas gift when I was twelve. I loved her, but I was a callow child and a troubled young adult who regularly abandoned her to my parents through college, grad school, a disastrous teaching year, and four years while I struggled to find what I wanted to do when I grew up. Still, whenever I returned home, faithful Ming was there, waiting for my lap and her place on my bed. As she aged, she suffered fools with less patience, and one day at the age of sixteen she used the calf of one of my mother’s more foolish friends as a scratching post.
The next day, without alerting me, my mother took her to the vet and had her put down. For the next four years, before I left my parents’ Ohio home for New York, I was convinced that Ming’s ghost nightly leaped onto my bed and found her place next to me.
My chief reason for turning down Judy’s offers had to do with my work. I was working at The Drama Book Shop as a buyer/trouble shooter, but I could barely live on the salary, much less pay for an animal’s care. As my career as a musical arranger took off in the mid-1980s, I was often away from the apartment for long periods. This wasn’t fair to a pet. And, practically speaking, I couldn’t afford to board an animal for long periods.
In In 2013 I suddenly became old. I never thought anything would slow down my ambition or drive, but something happened in early August that affected the left side of my body from hip to toe and rendered me a gimp. I was still emotionally around ten years old, but physically I was sixty-seven and feeling six hundred and seventy. I felt decrepit, and for the first time I understood why old folk can be cranky because of the continual pain in the joints, the effort to move, and the frustrating wait for things to adjust. This physical issue extended to my work. The foundation for whom I was working went belly up the following year, and my income was drastically reduced.
I don’t know exactly what happened, but around 2016 I began thinking seriously about adopting a cat. I was home alone far too often, and I thought a companion might not be a bad thing. My friend Milla posted things about cats on Facebook, and this led me to start following rescue groups on the site. I needed to make an Ohio trip in June 2017 to work on my collection in the Miami University Library, so I put my adoption plans on hold. The cat could wait, but every day I checked the cat adoptions at the New York Animal Care Center online. I told my brother Randy and his wife that I was getting a cat when I returned to New York.
Instead, my friend Carmon DeLeon, who was planning a Labor Day concert for his newly-formed South West Ohio Philharmonic, programmed “Overture to Twelfth Night” from the incidental music I’d composed in college for Shakespeare’s play. So, I returned to Ohio in late August resolved to adopt a cat when I returned.
I began adding things to my Amazon Wish List – a litter box, litter mats, food dishes, a pet carrier, a cat tree, toys – but I didn’t have the cat. I told Val, the wonderful super of our building, that I’d be getting a cat soon, and then I saw the ad on Facebook. Best Friends Animal Society was holding a big adoption event on September 29-30, with adoption fees greatly reduced. This was too good to pass up. I ordered the litter box and the pet carrier.
Via email I got the letter of permission from the landlord, printed it out, and on Saturday morning, September 30, as I sat at the bus stop I realized I had forgotten it. I walked back to the apartment, put the email into my pocket, left the apartment, and ran into Val, who was sitting in his car.
What are you doing? I asked him.
I’m going to visit a friend in the Bronx, he told me.
Will you do me a favor? Can you drop me off at the subway at Central Park West and 81st? The adoption starts at 10, and I don’t want to be late.
Get in.
I took the downtown subway to lower Broadway, hot to see all those adoptable cats at Best Friends. Only they were out of cats! They all went on Friday.
The assistant I was talking to said they expected more cats later in the day, if I wanted to wait. Otherwise, she could give me a list for other cat adoptions that day. There was a huge event at Union Square beginning at noon, and K9 Kastle was offering cats for an adoption fee of $20.00! I got a taxi and headed to Union Square.
At noon, the crowd was small. I walked into the K9 Kastle trailer full of caged cats, not really aware of what I was looking for, but I found her in the third cage: a beautiful young gray, white, brown, and black tabby oozing self-confidence and joy. She danced around her cage, cozying up to me, rubbing against the hand I had stuck into the cage to pet her. I looked at the information pinned to the cage. Her name was Annabelle, estimated age one year, but everyone – including her vet – said she was more likely ten months old. I turned to a volunteer and said three words: I’ll. Take. Her.
Two hours later I carried Annabelle out of the trailer in the pet carrier I had to buy since I had not brought one with me. The whole transaction cost me $45.00. It was the best money I had ever spent.
When we got to my apartment around three o’clock, I released her from the carrier and she immediately hid under the bed. I ignored her and played on the computer. From the corner of my eye I occasionally saw her moving about the apartment, but I stayed out of her way. Around five o’clock, she said loudly and clearly: Are you going to feed me? Don’t you offer guests refreshment?
I was floored. My Siamese never talked, but maybe there were new developments in the past forty years I had missed.
What did you say? I asked her.
Feed me, Seymour. Feed me!
That’s from Little Shop-
Of Horrors, she finished for me. I’m going to star in Broadway musicals when I grow up.
My God! I thought, I’ve adopted a cat with career goals.
©2019, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 