I am terrified that Ketzel, my cat and costar of my life, is going to plummet 10 stories to a very premature death. He is only 1 year and 2 months, but way too curious. He weaves on the window ledge patrolling for action below. For him that would be a house fly convention. The cat loves those suckers.
To mark my 10th anniversary in NYC, I moved into my 4th NYC apartment (not bad compared to others I know). Several firsts occurred today: First time in a doorman building; First time doing a double digit floor; First time below 96th street; First time without a dog; and First time living alone. I am very excited to finally living in Mayor Bloomberg's Manhattan, even though I've always lived on this isle. I've been scouring Amazon looking for random things, like easter chocolate in October and bulk orders of toilet wipes, to put my package room to good use. I'm not happy about the no dog thing, but we'll get to that later. The high floor leads me to my current quandary.
According to the Apple Bank sign on 72nd street, which i can see from my window-How cool is that!-it is 55 degrees out. In the apartment, translation-rectangle studio it feels like 80 and I do not like heat. This window is a fancy double pane one meaning very wide. I don't have a screen to fit it, though I might not trust Mr. Ketzel toes to not leap through it when a yellow breasted bird zips by. I cracked it just enough for me to feel some cool air and small enough for Ketzel to put a paw through. I fear that in a fit of predatory excitement he might leap and slam into the glass generating enough torque to pop the window out. Yup, I own my neuroses.
I thought cats possessed a heightened visual acuity and were smart enough to temper their instincts when facing of with a pigeon. I thought they would resist the urge to jete off the ledge into a spread cat dive. They don't. On the other had they are capable of surviving high falls, but I'm not really into physics so I'll leave that alone.
How is this related to the title of this blog, Coming of Age...2 Decades late? You may wonder. Well, I came to this city 10 years ago at the age of 32 wanting to become a vibrant, passionate pretty person. I almost got there but toward the end of that decade things went the wrong way. I dreamed of living the way I am living now: tucked away in my tower, the sentry guarding the entrance and my ferocious tiger at my side. I had roommates, I lived in the non-bedroom and horrific railroad apartments.
Today marks the next attempt at the dream. One in which I walk alone with only a 14pound feline, a dog TBA(to be adopted later), and the doorman, in case I loose my keys.
