A Rumor
In the spring of 1981 I was assigned by the Village Voice to follow up on an odd rumor. Bud Smiley, my editor, pitched the bizarre story of a cat in the West Village who could talk and was alleged to be implicated in an art theft. I protested the assignment. It was obviously pure BS, based on some stoner's prank call to the switchboard. Bud just gave me his stare.
I bolted from the building and headed west. That morning I really hated my job.
But then, there he was. On the corner of Greenwich and Perry Streets sat a scruffy old tabby with scars on his nose and patches of missing fur from tussles with rats, cats and dogs. His look and demeanor fit the line Bud had fed me.
At first he ignored me. The old cat posed on the curb taking no notice of passing poodles, honking cabs and the periodic “Here, kitty kitty.” of gushy locals.
I started blabbering at the cat. I must have sounded like a total idiot because he didn’t bat an eye even though I was squatting in front of him,
My frustration peaked. I hadn’t turned in a story for a month and my ass was on the line. I was desperate. I tried a new line of inquiry. “Is it true that you were thrown out of your studio after destroying a great artist’s work?”
There was still no reaction but I persisted. After all, I do have a thing for cats.
"I was told," I blurted out, "that you invaded a magical room where you destroyed a valuable piece of art and you were banished. I was told you are now doomed to live on the street for the rest of your natural life."
The old cat moved slightly. He coughed, spit and looked at me from the corner of one eye. "Great artist! Magical room!" he scoffed, "My aching ass! He and that dopey gal of his are a real pair of Village Art-Teests," rolling his eyes. "Valued art, bah. A bunch of junk he found on the street." He shivered and the words tumbled out. "That supposed artist finds junk whenever he wanders the streets. It’s something about seeing the stuff in his dreams. Without me his ideas were nothing. I brought him Dutch. He…" The old cat, looking as red in the face as a cat can, stopped himself.
He returned to the posture in which I had found him, staring across the street seemingly without a care.
There was a long pause as I was taken aback by his emotional outburst. I proceeded cautiously. "So did you or did you not destroy this artwork? Mr. uh..." I realized I didn't know his name.
He glared at me. "City," he sighed, finally resigned to our conversation. "City Cat. City Kitty. City Spirit. Whatever.” City looked over his shoulder.
“I've had a lot of names. Some people think I'm a spirit and bring them luck or some BS like that. So they come up with new names." He turned and sauntered over to a nearby doorway. "You really from the Voice?"
I nodded.
"Hmm. Let's grab some concrete over here where we can talk." He backed into the unused doorway of a Mediterranean-styled building painted aqua and made himself comfortable.
City looked up and down the sidewalk as if to satisfy himself that the coast was clear. In a near whisper City asked, "Hey, by any chance, you got any, you know, oh, any, uh, nip on ya?" He surveyed the sidewalk again.
I stared at him dumbly.
"Nah, well never mind,” dropping his head in disappointment. “You want to know about that room, huh?" His voice was back to normal, and there was a glint in his eye.
"You know, I wasn't the only cat in that room. I chased them around the floor a bit. The toys and Dutch I mean. A cat's got to stay sharp. Gotta keep up my mousing chops." City shook his head. “But you know I took the rap for those other two."
He blinked hard and absently began to lick a paw. He stopped and looked up at me. "Let me tell you, that was a nice place, that room. And you know what else, there was really something weird about it. Those toys he found moved around." He looked at me like he really meant what he was saying. "Yeah, moved around like they was alive."
He suddenly had a dreamy look in his eyes. "It was a nice place all right,” he said softly. “I was there from the beginning. I guess it really all began, oh, when was it? Uh, oh yeah, that's it. It all began that day...in that magical joint...