The author’s new cat, Gus.
By Lana Schwartz | news@queensledger.com
I apologize for the alarmist headline. However, my acknowledgement of the tone taken here doesn’t make its underlying statement any less true.
Last week, I did something I never thought I’d do. I adopted a cat. Not that there is anything wrong with having a cat — I just didn’t think I’d ever have one of my own.
Then, seasons change. Life moves in directions you could never expect. You find yourself coming around on an idea that previously seemed like it would’ve belonged to someone else entirely. This is what happened when I thought: It might be nice to have a pet. I can’t get a dog. What if…I got a cat?
Practical down to the very last drop, I began on a trial basis. I fostered a young cat named Yodel, knowing that if I didn’t enjoy his company — or the company of any cat at all — I still would’ve fulfilled my promise of giving a cat off the streets a home for a little while. What can I say? I fell in love with the little guy. I signed the adoption papers and renamed him Gus.
So now, I have a cat. A cat with a sweet, good-natured temper who loves to sit on your lap and watch Cheers with you. But he’s still a cat. And that means he wants, no, needs to hunt. And sometimes that means he wants to hunt me, the person who feeds him and looks after him and stands over him with a wand so that he doesn’t succumb to boredom. He lurks around corners, waiting to pop out and surprise me. He peers out over his paws, waiting for the right moment to strike, to climb onto his hind legs and clench my shin between his claws, right when I least expect it. When I’m standing over the sink, washing my dishes, or grabbing a plum out of the fridge, those are his favorite times to strike. There are no sounds to hear, no warning signs; the only evidence, his little teeth and little claws in my skin.
Unfortunately for Gus, I’m onto him. I’ve come to identify his hiding spots, to search corners before I turn them. All in all, I can tell it makes for a much less satisfying game for Gus. It’s time for him to evolve his strategy. And I have every faith he will find a new way to keep me on my toes. He is my cat, after all.
Lana Schwartz is a writer who was born and raised in Queens and today lives in Brooklyn. Her writing has appeared on The New Yorker, The Onion, McSweeney’s, and more. She is the author of the books “Build Your Own Romantic Comedy” and “Set Piece.”
