Earlier in the 20th century, the poet e.e. cummings had famously lived for decades on Patchin Place in Greenwich Village. In 1988, the prospect of living on Patchin Place for only $400 seemed unbelievable.
The ad in the Voice said: “Must like cats.”
When I showed up to look at the place, another prospective tenant was already waiting outside. We eyed each other as competitors. She was a stunning redhead, something I imagined would work to her advantage. She looked like she liked cats.
The man who was renting out the bedroom let us both in at the same time. His name was Charles, and he’d probably been living there since e.e. cummings was alive and there on Patchin Place.
The first thing that struck you was the most intense odor of cat urine ever concentrated in one place. It made your eyes water. I may have involuntarily pulled my t-shirt over my mouth.
There were cats everywhere, too many to count. Also thousands and thousands of leather-bound books piled so deeply there was barely a pathway through the apartment. Charles appeared not to have ventured out much over the years.
While he showed Mia (the redhead) the kitchen, I checked out what would be my bedroom. The thin, stained mattress. There was a closet, I opened it. Without warning, one of the cats took a flying leap onto the back of my neck, clawing frantically, using my head to propel himself into the top shelf of the closet. He could not quite get a grip and came crashing back down along with an old, smelly blanket.
I thought the cat was merely insane, but another cat appeared, stared up at the shelf, flicked its tail and meowed loudly. What was up there? It scaled the door and made it onto the shelf. Charles had to come in and stand precariously on a stool to get it down.
I spied Mia making her way to the door, I made sure I got out with her, offering hurried regrets to Charles as I escaped.
“The smell of that place,” Mia said when we hit the street together. We said a few more things to each other as we walked along, then went our separate ways.
Apparently, neither of us liked cats as much as we’d thought.
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I could smell this story. This is a serious compliment ;)