Feline Odyssey

Feline Odyssey

A cat rubbed up against my legs just the other day, a normal mackerel tabby, a shorthaired tiger-striped gray and black, a black M adorning her forehead; reaching down between her ears, I tickled her cushy, sensitive fur, rubbing my fingers down her spine and tail as she arched her back up into my fingers, purring contentedly. I quickly checked her collar and found out her name was Konami and she was registered to a family on Pine. Out on catty errands, no doubt, she looked too well-fed to be a normal stray.


Having grabbed my attention, she jumped up onto the red-brick wall splitting Washington Square's tranquil horse-chestnuts from the street's hustle and bustle, her tail stuck primly in the air, and mewing softly, the dappled shady sunlight striking her baby-blue collar most handsomely, she begged me follow her as, balancing in the supple way only cats can, she made her away along the wall-top towards its corner, towards the intersection, where she daintily (is there any other way a cat can?) jumped down and rushed on under the tires of the idling cars waiting for the light to turn in their favor and on across under an obscenely quacking Duck, the most annoying tourist traps in the city, and a security car too idling, the guards doubtless out in the square shoving some alien into an unbearable and untenable position and back out again past the box on the sidewalk next to Independence Mall; as I followed her balancing on the bike-rack fences looking out at the colonial redbrick of this nation's most sacred building a block further north, a sprightly spring breeze flicked the eaves of my jacket, cooling for a second the otherwise warm day.


The light at Fifth and Walnut was against us but that didn't deter Konami, not even for a second; with tourist carriages' horses antsy neighing and brakes screeching, she single-handedly jammed up Fifth, and grateful, a small amphitheater's worth of waiting pedestrians crossed before the emergent phantasmagoria of a crash about to block the box, despite the PPA's numerous plainly-posted cautions otherwise, and I, alone, chasing the cat, having stopped to wait on the other side, the widdershins, the contrariwise direction.


Sensing I close enough to be able to keep on following her, she plunged deeper into the park, onto the bluegrass bed of long-dead Dock Creek, and I, wondering where she was taking me, kept following her. Blind to my quarry hiding in the creek's furrow, to that wedding party traipsing across the cobblestones on Library, I must have looked ridiculous!, but then I noted her squeezing under one of the more miniscule pedestrian bridges and there was I, scrambling up onto and over the path, and there she was at a fork in the rut, beckoning me to follow her up upstream along the other branch, towards Carpenter's Hall, and on past it towards crowded Chestnut, a beautiful block of antiquarian fa?ades, and Buddakan and other haute-cuisine bars and restaurants-a spontaneous break in the traffic after a 2000 Civic sedan with surprisingly familiar dents and a rather irritated-looking driver behind the wheel and off, a-frisking, there like a gunshot on the other side was Konami! Belatedly I crossed as she dived into a tiny alley (if that), a hole between fa?ades, dark, damp, mushy, moldy, trash-strewn, barely wide enough to stand upright in, clearly a rat-runway, between Chestnut's inane business and whatever lay in the courtyard beyond-and there it was-an alley, Oriana, festering with flies, wasps, and the noxious aroma of a dozen eating-places' scraps disposed of in a dozen and then some Dumpsters, and there, emaciated, mewing, a bunch of the city's feral cats. Konami, evidently familiar with some of them, conversed cattishly before she whisked us off down the alley towards a parking lot, crowded with vehicles even at this early, sunny hour, and across Third onto tiny Elbow, twisting south onto Bank and past the narrow, misty alleys of Old City's biggest landmarks, following a parking lot onto Dock St as it crossed (once again) Walnut, mercifully quiet this time, and then up the hill to Society Hill Towers' plaza.


Something brushed past me; turning around, I noticed that several of the cats we'd met behind Buddakan were following Konami (and thereby me, too) as we headed west down St. James Place back across Third and then Fourth, chasing through the increasingly disorienting maze of streets, alleys, and as we headed further in, to the point even I with my superb mental compass had no idea where we were, the alleys and backyards closed in on us until Konami led us to a tiny plaza adorned with several cat bowls and a statue, half cat half woman, looking closer, I discovered it was an idol of Bast, the Egyptian cat goddess, and there under her protective gaze did Konami and her clan chow down on the gifts given them, kibble and wet food.
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After ten minutes stumbling around in the dense urban maze and several "I'll call the cops!" calls, I finally found a street, and retreating to the nearest corner-otherwise anonymous somewhere in Society Hill-I tried to figure out what was happening. Was somebody feeding Konami and her clan? Was somebody worshipping Bast and Konami coming to gathering the remnants? In the pleasant spring chill, I realized I had too many questions-and none of the answers. I had come to the Thaddeus Kosciuszko National Memorial; sitting down on a bench, fumbling around in my pocket, I produced an ancient, withered peanut butter cracker (I hate peanut butter!), crumbled it, and fed some pigeons, when much to my surprise and amazement I heard a mew down by my feet: it was Konami, who jumped into my lap and purring peaceably, went right to sleep as I scratched her silky fur and reclined somewhat-as much as the bench's stiff wood would let me. Yes, I had none of the answers, but in this city-who cares?-which is when I heard a shout to my right: it was a pretty girl about my age-"Mister! Thank you so much! You found Konami! How has she been? Has she been long with you?"


I looked deep into her jet-black Japanese eyes-she really was very, very pretty-as I stood up, waking Konami and giving it to her. "Here you go," I spoke far too quietly.


"No-you keep her. Follow me-we'll take her home."


I did as I was told, thanking God Konami had the audacity to meet me.