Cat Man

Last March, I had lunch with my editor in midtown, which is always a pleasant event. I left the restaurant, and was heading down Fifth Avenue around 55th Street, when I saw two cats sitting on a blanket outside of the First Presbyterian Church. It was obvious that the cats and the blanket belonged to some homeless person, who was not present at the time; both cats were sitting perfectly still, hunched and wary, waiting for their human to come back from wherever he or she was.

I stopped, gripped with a terrible fury and frustration. What the fuck. Two cats, completely vulnerable, sitting in the cold on the busy sidewalk, with thousands of people streaming right by every minute, and heavy traffic three feet away. How dare this person, whoever they were, ask two animals to live like this, and leave them unprotected? I waited for their human to return, hovering over the cats proprietarily, more anxious with every second. Motherfucking people. I really hate them sometimes.

I waited about ten minutes, until I was nearly hyperventilating, but no cat owner made themselves apparent, so I burst into tears and moved on. I'm a real baby about homeless animals, as I suspect a lot of people are; I'm not surprised by the anecdotal evidence I've heard, that people with animals make more money panhandling than people without animals. This is supposed to show that people are assholes who care more about a dog than they do about each other -- so, fine, I'm an asshole. To me, it seems that a human has more of a say in their lifestyle than an animal does; a homeless person's animal appears to me to be an innocent, unwitting victim of the human's illness or addiction or "alternative choices."

And I understand that the girl junkie on 14th Street needs her dog to protect her while she nods out in a public place -- the dog looks well-fed, at least -- I also understand that there are many homeless animals that don't even have the benefit of a human to "take care of" them. And I know that the humans are as much victims of their own illnesses or addictions or alternative poor fucking choices as anybody else. But for god's sake, don't drag a goddamn cat into your nightmare.

So I was in midtown for lunch yesterday, and I saw them again -- the cats on the blanket, this time with a container for donations between them, and a guy sitting with his back against the wall. I stopped and put a dollar in the cup, and then I approached the guy. "Cold out here," I said. "I guess there's no place for you all to go indoors."

He looked at me with something between bemusement and contempt. "Miss, I'm homeless, course I ain't got no place to go indoors, you ain't never been homeless, otherwise..."

"I've been homeless," I told him. "I lived at [the shelter], I'm just trying..."

"That ain't homeless," he grumbled. "That's indoors. You try living outside. People with their nosy questions. Nobody wants to help, they just want to be nosy..."

Nosy, right? You're asking me for money, but I'm nosy if I ask you anything in return. "I want to help," I told him. "I don't like seeing you all out here like this. It's too cold for you, and for them..."

"Animals is supposed to be outdoors! That's the way they live!" I tried to tell him that I understand the basics of animal behavior, but he cut me off, started telling me about Vietnam, God's plan, how the "shadow" in the verse about "the shadow of the valley of death" refers to the human body, etc. etc. etc. God's plan, I had to understand, means that one does not have any control over one's life -- one is foolish and egotistical to think otherwise.

"You have control over some things," I said. "That's why God gave you free will, to act as you choose."

All the while we were talking, people were putting money in the cup. A Japanese woman interrupted us to ask of the cats, "How much?" and the guy snapped at her -- "They not for sale." He was really raking it in; in the five minutes I spend talking with him, he collected at least ten dollars. The cats, meanwhile, sat tensed on their haunches, looking out at the people streaming by.

"So how can I help," I asked, finally, having proved that I was not just nosy; that I was willing to engage in a discussion of theology, and to respect his crackpot determinism, at least on the face of it. "Besides giving a dollar, what can I do."

"You can get my cats some sweaters," he allowed. "Someone said they were gonna bring them some sweaters, but they didn't."

"Okay, I said. "I have to go meet this lady, but I will get them some sweaters. Will you be here for a while?"

"I'll be here," he said. "I'll be here today, tomorrow..."

"All right," I said. "My name is Janice, and I'll come back here looking for you later today."

"All right, Janice. You can call me Cat Man."

So I moved along and had my lunch, and then I went down to the Petco by Union Square to get some cat sweaters. I was debating with myself the entire time -- what the hell am I doing; the guy's not even going to be there; why am I driving myself nuts over these cats; there's nothing I can do to protect them from whatever's going to happen to them; it's fucking God's fucking Plan, right? And still, I bought the sweaters, and a fleece-lined bed for them to curl up in. And I got back on the train to midtown.

The train was slow, and I was getting anxious. He's not going to be there, what am I doing. It was just like the Samantha days -- that urgency, that desperation -- I have to help, I have to help, I can't rest until I help. Trying to count my breaths, elongate them and hold them, to no avail. The train reached the station, and I barrelled down the sidewalk, muttering at people, excuse me, excuse me, MOVE. I got back to the church. He wasn't there.

I asked the guy with the hot dog cart if he'd seen the cat man; he had no idea what I was talking about. I went into the church: "Excuse me, you know the cat man?" The guy there looked disgusted. "He's not allowed in here," he said. "He begs for money." Yeah, I know, I said -- I have these sweaters for his cats, can I leave them here? No, said the church guy, and turned away. Okay.

It was a cold night last night, and all I could think of were the cats. Their little sweaters sat in the bag, to which I'd added two of Bill's old sweaters, shrunk and discolored in the laundry, but still wearable. I woke up this morning, and went back to midtown with the bag of sweaters, knowing the whole time, It's raining, he's not going to be there. He wasn't.

So, okay. I have a lunch date in a few minutes; I have some administration to attend to this afternoon; I have a show tonight. Plenty of work to keep me busy. Just forget about it, for now. Maybe I'll try again tomorrow, or maybe I'll give up. Maybe trying to prolong the life of these two cats isn't helping anybody. There are plenty of animals sleeping outdoors; plenty of people, too. I can't give them all sweaters. I can't even pray for them. Because I can't change God's Plan, or the plan of the guy at the church, or the Cat Man's plan. I can only change mine.

Comments

[luckydave]

The first step is admitting you're powerless? I'm not sure about that, but I admire your ability to accept the things we cannot change, and your wisdom to know the difference.

I wonder if the annual Coat Drive for the homeless accepts kitty clothing. I mean, if you go back there again, you're just going to have to write a book about it.

[William K. Scurry Jr.]

Grrrr... insane-homeless-victim guy is infuriating. As you said, leave the cats out of your fucked up predeterminism, dude.

[girlbomb]

Well, the guy's nuts, and I can't drive myself nuts with a nuts person. Unfortunately, I can't do anything for him or his cats. I'm returning the pet supplies and donating the cash to KittyKind.

Don't forget to spay and neuter your pets! Or your people.

[Judy McCatLady]

That is such a depressing story. Very nice of you to buy the kitty's coats though. Ugh.

[Holly]

I really hope you find Cat Man again. I will do some extra snuggling with my kitties tonight thinking about him and his cats. I still believe that, in our country, there is NO excuse for homelessness.

[Ann Hite]

I think admitting you're powerless is a huge step. Because in the end, we control nothing. I enjoyed the read.

Ann

[Chuck Funk]

Would you like a kitten Janice?

[Melissa]

You cannot change the world but you can change things for two little cats for a while by making them warmer and more comfortable - thats all we can do help the people and animals we come into contact with and hope that it makes a differenec! I am sorry you missed them but your heart was in the right place and I think the cats would have loved the bed and sweaters! Keep trying I bet you find them again.

[Underme]

As our son often quotes: "Women and Cats will do as they please... Men and Dogs should relax and get used to the idea."

[Jennifer Glick]

Oy kitties.

Funk, you're a manipulative bastard.

[Selune]

I think it was great of you to try. If we don't try, what are we here for? I do think it's sad that people would drag pets into that situation, but often people think only of themselves.

If we don't believe our contributions matter, we might as well just curl up and die. So keep trying. You can't save the world, but we aren't powerless, we can save a small bit of it.