I was still trying to establish a spot in the fridge to wedge my groceries in when New York announced its quarantine. My new home was located above a local soaperie, giving the halls an air of basil, eucalyptus and rosemary. It was a new building in Bushwick with shiny amenities with garbage collecting outside for rats to rummage through. Amber, my new roommate, liked to make feasts for her boyfriend Thomas, leaving sauce coated plates and mugs of dish water to collect in the sink. The other, Blu, was a production assistant who only appeared at night after a few drinks, dropping glass containers of pineapple he’d cut the night before or leaving his food in the oven, setting off the fire alarm routinely.
For weeks, I hid away in my room. I’d climb out my window on to the fire escape, lay out my yoga mat and read under the blazing sun for days on end- Bad Behavior, Sex and Rage, Play it as it Lays. Each playlist became highly curated for each activity- Pete Rock and C.L. Smooth to sketch, Dorothy Ashby plucking at her harp while I scrubbed the surfaces of my grimy railroad style apartment, Jimmy Ruffin to sink deep in my tub. I was deep in quarantine purgatory, which is why my meeting Lou was such a surprise.
We meant to rescue the mom, she was in bad shape last time we saw her but when we went back we found the kittens instead! Would you mind if we brought them back?
Amber and Thomas walked through the doorway each carrying small mesh bags of chirping kittens. At about two weeks old, they fit the size of my palm and stared back at me with big round eyes. We’re looking for homes, think you’d be interested? No, I thought, I’m not cat person I thought.
Late at night, I’d take a hit of grass on the fire escape and join them in bottle feeding the kittens. Lou, the runt, was my favorite. His fur was light gray with a white underside, the hairs on his chest and neck were hard and stuck together from dried milk. Like a balloon, his belly was big and round with a defined bulge in the center from an umbilical hernia. His left eye was glued shut from an infection. His very existence begged for love and protection. Night after night, my body gravitated towards his, tricking us both into believing I was his mother.
Once the time had come to make a decision, of course I kept him. His eye infection was healing but he was also a host to ear mites and fleas. Kittens that young can’t regulate their own body temperature, and are sensitive to the cold. For his flea bath, I rubbed a ring of soap around his neck and scrubbed his fur as the parasites ran off with the suds. I removed him from the running water and swaddled him in a towel, gently drying his newborn body to stave off the cold. He was helpless and the weight of responsibility made my chest tighten.
I could feel my nervous system revving up, intrusive thoughts of Lou in danger ran loops in my head. Heat pouring out of a cracked oven and Lou jumping inside, singeing his hair black, cooking his red skin raw. Slamming the apartment door shut in a panic as he tries to escape, cutting him clean in two. Picking him up in the wrong position and rupturing his hernia, long intestinal ropes spilling onto the floor. I pictured him home alone while I worked, feeling lonely and wondering when I was coming home.
I thought of my own mother, of how sharing such tender moments with your baby are fleeting and you’re the only one to remember them. That you can see them fully but they’ll never see you. Everyone has those pivotal moments of choosing to alter your life’s current trajectory, of whether you want to tether your own life to another. I thought of how something so sweet has to have that bit of pain to ground you still in reality. Tears collected into a stream as I contemplated the weight of it all.
As I meditated on the bond we formed, I considered the newly swelled, thumping hearts all around me. The American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals reported one in five American households adopted an animal during the pandemic. While our lives were upended, these animals are what we looked towards for comfort. While I consciously believed I was enjoying my solitude, something must have taken over and reflexively reached towards him without letting go.
