Successor to the new New York deli cat should be enjoyed with coffee

Oreo had made her bed atop the coffee bean dispenser. She was asleep.

You will recall King - the king of all the New York deli cats. I had hoped to see him again. Needing to save a little money, it had been my plan to find an economical motel somewhere away from the city, near a train station tied into the subway system, because, you understand, in New York City, downtown Manhattan, even a cheap hotel is expensive.

Still, my sister Sal Tien was with me and had never before been in New York City, so it seemed only right that before doing anything else, I should first drive her into the heart of The Big Apple. Of course, I also wanted to impress her with how I, an Alaskan country boy, knew my way around the biggest city in the United States, just like it was nothing.

So, not long after driving her into Manhattan, I said, “Central Park is just ahead.” Sure enough, I drove another three blocks and Central Park was right there.

Oreo hears me taking pictures. She wakes up.

“Now,” I said to Sal Tien, “I’m going to drive you to Times Square. You don’t think I can do it, but I’m going to take you there - just like it was nothing.”

And, sure enough I did. Suddenly, I felt far too tired to drive out into what they call hinter lands in New York to find a cheap stay. And there was the Hotel Edison, on 47th, just off Times Square. So we checked in, then stepped out onto the street to take a walk. (Please note: this was in 2002. There is no way I could afford a New York hotel today. Fortunately, on my latest trip, I was a guest in a very fine home of some people who used to live in Alaska.)

Naturally, Sal Tien wanted to head straight to Times Square. “No,” I said, “Let’s go this way,” and headed in the opposite direction. She was puzzled, but followed. I found a certain Deli and went inside, searching up and down the aisles, looking for a black cat, but I did not see one.

“Where is the black cat?” I finally asked the owner, who was at the cash register.

“The black cat?” he answered, sadly. “You want to know where the black cat is?”

"Yes."

Oreo seems to be wondering if she is still asleep, perhaps having a nightmare. She hopes she is asleep. 

“The black cat is gone.”

“Gone?”

“Yes. Gone. She was 15 years old and she died.”

“Oh, no,” I said, puzzled that he was calling the cat “she,” since I had understood, or perhaps misunderstood, her name to have been King.

“But look,” he said, pointing to a coffee bean dispenser perched high above the floor. I looked and there, sleeping atop the coffee, was a comfy tabby.

“Her name is Oreo,” he said. “She is one and a half years old.”

“Oreo!” I said admiringly, even as Sal Tien oohed and aahed with praises of her own. “Where did you get her?”

The deli owner, who appears to be of mid-eastern origin, looked at me as if I were stupid. “At the pet store,” he answered in a derogatory tone, as if all cats come from pet stores. I asked for a story, but he was not a story teller - at least, not in English. “She is like a human,” he answered. “My customers all love her. A customer bought her a collar. She is just like a human.”

And that is all that I learned about Oreo. I wonder if she likes to dip herself in coffee?

Oreo figures out that she is awake. This is not a nightmare. This is real life. She begins to scream. It comes out as a yowl.

Yowl!

Yowl!

Yowelll!!! 

Yowellllll!!!!!!!!!!

"Don't you dare dip me in your coffee!"

King of the New York Deli Cats

I have shown you all the cats that I photographed during my most recent trip to New York, but I have been in that city before.

Late one night, many years ago, when I still did all my shooting in black and white and Tryskuit and Nabysko still lived at home, I arrived in New York City and checked into my hotel room.  It was late, but I wanted to buy some shredded wheat so that I could eat it for breakfast the next morning. Leaving my cameras in my room, I stepped out of the hotel and then found a nearby Deli just off Times Square. 

In search of shredded wheat, I looked down an aisle and was surprised to see my own, very dear and beloved buddy, the black cat, Little Guy sitting there, sandwiched between a shelf stocked with peanut butter and jam and another with loaves of bread - both white and wheat. I looked a little closer and saw that this was not the Little Guy at all, but another black cat, one who was just a little shaggier than my big-hearted Little Guy.

How I miss Little Guy! It has been seven years now since I lost him! Seven years! And still I miss him!

Delighted and eager to meet this black cat, I stepped towards him. He leapt to his feet, scurried off down the aisle, then slid onto his side and started clawing maddly at some boxes of Riccola, as if perhaps he had a bad cough and needed some relief.

I caught up to him there and we visited awhile.

I then told the owner of the Deli, a man whoose physical features and accent suggested origins somewhere in the Middle East, that my two daughters would be greatly disappointed if I returned from New York City without a photo of a cat. “Would you mind if I came back tomorrow, with my cameras, to photograph this cat?” I asked.

He laughed outrageously. “Sure,” he exclaimed, “you can photograph King.”

But the next day was such a busy one for me that I did not get the chance, and early the morning thereafter I boarded my plane and returned to Alaska. My journey had been an utter failure, for I had not photographed a single cat in New York City. When would I ever get a chance to return to the Manhattan deli?

As it happened, about six months later. After I arrived, before I did anything else, I headed straight to the Deli. The man did not recognize me so again I explained my purpose. Again he laughed loud and long. “Sure!” he again exclaimed, “You can photograph King.”

Again, I found King taking it easy by the bread, peanut butter and jam, and again he scooted off to claw at the Riccola, causing me to wonder if maybe he hadn’t embibed a bit from the cases of IPA Bitter Brew Brew stacked just across the aisle.

King and I engaged each other for the photo shoot and then I went to find the man, to see if he would share some stories about King, but he had left the store.

A younger fellow had taken his place but he was not comfortable speaking English, and I could not even identify the language that he spoke. I can tell you this about King: all who came in the deli were delighted to see him. People can be pretty brusque and rude in New York City, but in that deli, in the warming presence of King, New Yorkers all smiled; King had decreed that all New Yorkers who entered his kingdom must be friendly and pleasant and all happily obeyed.

Next up: See what happens when I go back to the same Deli a few years later.

Coney Island, Part 2: Santos fights New York City hall to save his garden for his good cats

I am so exasperated! I have been trying to load these pictures for hours, and now that they are finally loaded (not through my usual Safari Browser, but through Firefox, which is much slower than Safari) I feel too exasperated to write in here. And yet, I need to post this story. So...

As you can see, Santos let me into his Coney Island garden. Buttons, who just happened to be as cute as a button, lept up into the cage of the white tiger. I was frightened for her, but she handled bravely. The white tiger was so impressed with her courage that he stood perfectly still, in admiration and did not harm her at all.

As for Luther, Santos told me that he used to be Lucy, but then one day it was discovered that he has a male organ, and so he became Luther. I am finding that this is a common mistake, which makes me feel better about how our original estimation of the Whole Kitten, Kaboodle.

Santos was born in Puerto Rico, moved to New York 53 years ago and sometime after that, he made this garden in Coney Island. He calls it, "Santos White Garden." Somtime later, he found eight homeless kittens, and so he let them move into the garden. He has had cats there, ever since.

Buttons and Luther. Buttons has two little button eyes, a button nose, and a button butt. That is why she is buttons. Santos did not tell me this, I just deduced it. We Krackers have always been good deducers.

But Santos did tell me how he almost lost the garden to the city of New York. There were folks in the government of that city that did not think that there were enough buildings in New York. They sent some scouts out to find places where they could build more buildings.

Such a scout found Santos' White Gardens.

Soon, Santos received word: his garden had been condemned! All of his little statues, his hanging apes, his various toys, would all have to come down. As for his chickens and ducks, it would be best if he just ate them, as they stood in the way of progress.

His cats, who had always had free roam of the garden, would have to learn how to live indoors only, or maybe be given to someone who lived on a farm.

Look at Tiger! Tiger is the daddy cat to Luther and Buttons. He is old but virile. He never did lay before the surgeon's knife. Look how tough he is! You can see that he is an outdoor cat. And yet, he is a city cat. Not a farm cat.

What would Tiger do, if Santos had to leave his garden, so that some rich person could put up big building in its place, and grow even richer.

But Santos fought for his Tiger! No one was going to take Tiger's home away, just to build a building. And Tiger has a wife, Fuzzy. She needed a home, too. Plus, Santos opens his gates to classrooms of New York school children, who come over to see what a garden is like, and to pet the kitties.

Santos protested in front of city hall. He made signs. He made phone calls.

Santos even got the ear of former Governor Spitzer, before his recreational activities cost him his job. Spitzer was at first in favor of removing gardens for building, but when after Santos educated him, he came around.

A governor really does not have final say in what a city does to the gardens within it, but still he was a good allie to have.

In the end. Santos won. His garden is still there. Schoolchildren still come around. His four cats have a home, with chickens and ducks.

As for Buttons and Luther, I should note that they were only half the litter. Santos gave their two siblings away.

What about Fuzzy, their mother?

Here she comes! This is fuzzy!

Fuzzy comes to Santos.

Santos also plays a blues guitar, down on the boardwalk, in the summer time.

I am too tired to write anymore about it. Just look at the picture, and add your own caption.

Looks to me like they all get along pretty good.

Luther.
Buttons and Luther.

Luther and Tiger. There's more, but I must go to bed now, so this will have to do.

Coney Island, Part 1: Kitten gets into the chicken hut; chickens unruffled

As the late afternoon sun sank toward the Coney Island horizon, I knew that if I wanted to find a cat in this neighborhood of New York City, I had better get looking. So I left the beach and boardwalk, and strolled on into the town section. As I strolled, I looked at every door, every porch, every window; peeked inside every little shop and store and peered down allies and roadways, but saw no cat.

Then I came upon an unusual scene - in the midst of the surrounding buildings I found a lot filled with grass, tiny garden plots, and a host of miniature statuary, ranging from donkeys to a life sized toy soldier. 

At first, I thought I had happened upon a miniature golf course, but I had not. It was a garden of some kind. 

Then I saw the above statue of a cat, in the middle of a tiny garden plot. "Well," I thought to myself. "If someone likes cats enough to put a statue like this in their garden, then it stands to reason that they might like them enough to invite real, flesh and blood cats to live with them."

 

So I walked slowly along the outside of the fence, studying the strange menagerie of artificial animals on the other side of the fence. Soon, I came to a second ceramic cat. It was white, and in the plot with it was a chicken, also white. Taking pictures through the heavy wire of the black, chain-link fence was most difficult. It required me to bring the lens right up to the little diamond shaped openings formed by the wire links, but these gaps were too small to fit the lens barrel through.

So I had to position the camera so that the edges of the barrel rested against the black-painted metal of the chain link, but the glass peered through unobstructed. This left me with a very limited field of view and little maneuverability. None-the-less, in this manner I photographed the hen and the statue.

If you click on a few of these pictures, you will see that there are all kinds of interesting objects in the background.

I continued my stroll along the fence and spotted two effigies - one of a gorilla, the other an orangutan, dangling by the arms from a tree. Beneath the tree was a chicken hut. I thought about taking a photograph, just because the scene was so strange, but the light was dimming, I could see neither cat nor human within the fenced in area, and so I decided that if I was to find a cat, I had just better move on.

Just as I walked beyond the compound, I heard the voice of a woman: "Did you photograph the roosters, too?" I turned, and saw an elderly black woman addressing me.

"Did you photograph the roosters, too?" she asked again. "I saw you photographing the hens. You should photograph the roosters, too. Come back. I'll show you the roosters."

I followed her back to the above scene. She pointed to the hut. "Can you see the roosters?" she asked.

"Yes," I answered, as I took a picture to be polite. "But what I really want to photograph is a cat. Do you know if there is a cat anywhere in there?"

"Oh, yes!" she said. "Of course! He keeps cats." She then peered intently at the chicken hut. "Look!" she exclaimed. "There's a cat in there right now! A kitten. That kitten is not supposed to be in with the chickens! Santos won't like that. That kitten is being naughty."

Look closely through the wire front of the chicken hut. Do you see a kitten?

Now can you see it? Dimly, almost like a little feline wraith, just before Halloween? And look! There's a rooster in front of it.

"Oh, Santos is not going to be happy about this!" the woman said. "That kitten is not supposed to be in with the roosters. I wonder where Santos is? He's usually nearby. Well, I've got to go. Good luck, getting your picture. If he comes while you are here, Santos will let you inside."

She left.

I wondered if the kitten might come out of the chicken coop if I called out to it. "Kitty!" I trilled. "Kitty! Kitty! Here, kitteee, kitty!" The kitten perked up, and came trotting out, all excited. He trotted right past a couple of roosters.

Not withstanding the fact that it was I whose call had excited him to come, the kitty completely ignored me. He did not ignore this hen, however. He studied her intently.

As I continued to try to call him to the fence, the kitten sat down, and studied his surroundings.

Then the kitten went off to explore, as a rooster observed. I followed, struggling to take pictures through the link openings in the fence.

The kitten suddenly leaped into the air, and landed right beside the rooster. This antic ruffled the rooster's feathers.

The kitten then marched past the feet of the toy soldier, back in the direction of the chicken hut. I followed.

Soon, the kitten turned around, and headed back in the other direction.

Again he passed the toy soldier.

He passed a white tiger, entered a walkway, and then turned toward the fence. Yes, I followed.

And then, suddenly, he stopped. He had brought me to another kitten and both sat looking at me from the other side of the fence.

It was as if the first kitten had intentionally led me to the second, and now that he had introduced us, he left, so that I could turn my camera onto the second kitten, and he could get some peace.

This is a mistake. I had meant for the camera to focus on the kitten, but instead it focused upon the scene behind the kitten. As it turned out, it was a very appropriate mistake for, even as I took this picture, behind one of those windows in the background a set of human eyes looked out, and studied me.

Hoping that Santos might come, I lingered with the kitten for several minutes and struggled to photograph him through the fence. People passing by on the sidewalk said nothing, but I could imagine what kind of thoughts were taking place in their heads.

Finally, I concluded that Santos was not going to appear, I stood up, and turned to walk away.

"Would you like to go inside, and meet Buttons?" I was surprised to hear a voice behind me, just as I began to walk away. I turned around and saw a man who wore a beret cap. His skin was dark and leathery. He had been around awhile.

"I'm Santos," he introduced himself. He pointed through a link in the fence. "That's button. And look! There's Luther." The first kitten came trotting back.

"Here, let me open the gate. You can come inside."

Next up: How Santos fought City Hall to save his garden for his cats

Coney Island on Bill Hess Wasilla blog - warning to mothers with small children: contains racy material

In New York's Hell's Kitchen, Spoiled Brat Cat tries to make his escape

"Hey, you're not supposed to be out here!" I heard one of the Anjellicle Cats Rescue volunteers exclaim when she spotted Spoiled Brat Cat walking through the single narrow aisle in the Spoiled Brat pet supply store, located in Midtown Manhattan's Hell's Kitchen.

I don't really know this cat's name. None of the volunteers that I asked knew it's name, and the worker behind the counter was busy even when he wasn't, and did not want to be troubled by me at all - not even to provide me with a bag in which to carry the painted pumpkin that I bought from Anjellicle cats as part of their fundraiser. So if he knew the cat's story, he kept it to himself.

Nor do I know anything about Spoilsd Brat Cat's history, for they didn't, either. All they could tell me was that it was the Spoiled Brat store cat, that it lived in a room behind the shopping area of the store and that it was not ever supposed to step out into the main part of the store.

But Spoiled Brat Cat did step into the main part of the store, and then sat down by the diapers and  kitty litter (diaper's for cats and dogs?), from whence he studied the door ahead of him, the one that opens up onto 49th Street.

Spoiled Brat Cat casually ambles down the aisle, as if he has nothing on his mind at all.

Suddenly, Spoiled Brat Cat sees his opportunity and seizes it! He is headed for 49th Street! Soon, he will be in the midst of the pulsating throngs of Times Square. He will sample shish-kabob from a friendly street vendor!

"Hey! Where do you think you'r going!" an Anjellicle volunteer blocks Spoiled Brat Cat's escape.

Spoiled Brat Cat, back in the midst of the Spoiled Brat pet supply store, generous host to the Anjellicle Cats Rescue. If you ever find yourself in New York City in need of pet supplies, I would recommend Spoiled Brats.

I have three more New York city cat stories to go in this series. The next takes place not in Manhattan but Coney Island.  It is a fun story that proves that a cat can beat City Hall and you will not want to miss it.

The guardian angels of New York City's Anjellicle Cats

I know - at first glance it seems both sad and unfair to see such a beautiful cat as Xena here caged up like this, but this Manhattan cat is fortunate. Not so long ago, Xena was facing destruction, but then she came under the care of one of the guardian angels of Anjellicle Cats Rescue, someone known as a foster.

In fact, Xena does not live in a cage at all, but rather in the foster's home - until that day comes that someone adopts her and gives her a permanent home. Xena is in the cage because she has come to the "Spoiled Brats" pet supply store in Midtown Manhattan to take part in a Halloween fundraiser for Anjellicle.

Angelica is one of the foster guardian angels who gives her time, home, and money as a volunteer foster for Anjellicle Cats. Angelica has two cats of her own, but volunteered to take in two more as a foster. "I want all the cats in New York to be safe and to have good homes," she explains. 

"So if that means that I need to foster cats myself to keep them safe until the right people adopt them, then I am happy to do that." 

Robert is the cat she holds. He is also known as "Tails," because he has a crooked tail. It is a little hard to tell, because it is the same color as Angelica's shirt and blends right in with it, but Robert Tails is wearing a Halloween costume.

Angelica knows that the day that somone adopts Robert Tails will be both happy and sad for her. She will be sad to see her friend move out - happy to know that she kept him safe and secure until a good home could be found for him.

Now you can see Robert Tail's costume a little better. As part of the fundraiser, all who pass by "Spoiled Brats" this day are asked to vote for the cat they think has the best costume. Angelica lobbies hard for Robert Tails, asking everyone who appears to vote for him.

She even asks me. Of course, as a serious journalist who must cover such events with a neutral eye, it would be against my ethics to vote for one cat out of the many.

"Please!" Angelica pleads. "Vote for Robert. He will get a prize." She even tells me what the prize is. I can't remember, but I know it was damn good, something any cat would be thrilled to have.

"I can't," I insist. "Mr. Tails is a great cat, but I just can't. It's an ethics thing."

"Please," Angelica pleads again. "You can. It will be all right."

"Oh, okay," I yield. I vote for Robert Tails. 

Now I am disgraced as a journalist. I hope this doesn't get out. I hope no one ever learns of this breach of my journalistic ethics.

So be quiet about it. Don't tell anyone! 

I am not certain who this cat is. Maybe it's Madeleine. Anjellicle Cats keeps a list of all the cats their volunteers foster on their website, with pictures, but it will surprise no one to learn that there are a number of tabbies there - and the pictures are tiny.

Still, I think this cat is Madeleine. Madeleine is enjoying the pet, but soon the petter will go into "overpet" mode. Madeleine will hiss at her.

That's okay. Even good cats do this kind of thing.

Madeleine also hissed at this little dog. The dog deserved it.

Now Xena has put on her Halloween costume. I wonder if I can cast two votes? I believe the kitten to be "Phoenix."

This kind of looks like Starbuck, but it could be Pebbles, or Sunny - I don't know. All I know for certain is that I wanted to take it out of New York City and bring it home to Alaska, to live with me. Of course, I wanted to do that with all the Anjellicle cats. I couldn't.

Madeleine again, getting the look-over. Anjellicle neuters all cats that come into their care, and vaccinates them. They have strict rules that all who adopt an Anjellicle Cat must abide by.

I am too lazy to even try to identify this one. I will just call him, "Too Cute." Many of the cats Anjellicle rescues come from the Euthanasia wing of the City shelter, but Anjellicle will rescue a cat wherever it can.

And once they have it, the cat is blessed with "no kill."

Anjellicle Cats hang out in the "Spoiled Brats" store.

H'mmmm - none of these three are wearing costumes. I could easily have voted for any one of them. I do not know who won. I sent an email to Anjellicle Cats, asking for the name of the winner.

I have yet to receive a response, but if I do, I will post the name here.

Here's where to go if you want to visit Anjellicle Cats online.