In the comments section below, please share your lunch experience. Here's mine.
I dispatched a last customer, clocked out, grabbed my coat and my bag and took the escalator two steps at a time to the ground floor. I followed a man in a suit out the revolving door and was out on the street, free at last. A fine mist was falling, but I let it wet my hair unrestricted by the umbrella I left in my bag. Instead I opened a brown paper sack and groped around for tortilla chips and stuffed them in my mouth as I made my way to the corner of 86th and Lexington and then crossed and almost continued down Lexington. I'd made the same mistake a few times before so I turned right back around and returned to 86th and Lexington and then crossed Lexington and continued on 86th past Park and Madison before reaching 5th Avenue and Central Park. By that time I'd finished all the tortilla chips in my lunch sack and had half eaten a Crispin apple. At a children's park a block from the Metropolitan Museum of Art I stopped and looked at the benches. They were speckled with droplets, but not soaking wet. I pulled the cardboard bottom out of my bag, positioned it on the bench and sat on it. After four and a half hours, it felt wonderful to be off my feet. I polished off the apple and chucked the core into a green trash bin. I opened up my lunch sack another time and found the prize: a sesame bagel. I contemplated using my knife and spreading some peanut butter from the container I'd brought onto the bagel. I decided against it. I sat and ate the sesame bagel in happiness, listening to the traffic and the sounds of the children in the park. I looked up at the bare branches of trees and into the dark sky. The mist was falling a little harder now. I rustled up my new umbrella, removed it from its pouch, opened it, and held it over my head. The bagel was very chewy and I wondered if I would sacrifice a tooth or at least a filling to it before I had finished. I sipped some water to wash the bagel down. When it was gone and fortunately my teeth were all still intact, I ripped open the peanut butter container and, with the knife, scooped some out and put it in my mouth. I filled my mouth with peanut butter thinking that some people would probably be repulsed upon hearing that I'd eaten plain peanut butter (freshly ground), but I rationalized the act, arguing that it would soon meet the bagel in my stomach. I put away my umbrella, rolled up my lunch sack, put the cardboard rectangle back in my bag and walked up a short ramp to the public bathroom. Afterwards, I reached into my coat pocket for dessert, a Dutch windmill cookie from my mother. I savored that cookie as I walked back on 85th and 86th, crossing 5th Avenue, Madison, Park and, finally, Lexington. At 150 E. 86th Street, I went through the revolving doors and rode the escalator downstairs back to work. Lunchtime was over.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Sunday, November 8, 2009
La Muerte en el Refugio de los Animales
Anoche a las diez me di cuenta de que no tenia ningun plan para el dia siguiente, un domingo, y que iba a ser un dia largo, lleno de soledad si no me lo solucionaba. Llegada a este punto, la mayoria de la gente sin duda comunicaria con sus amigos, pero sabia que los mios estaban fuera de la ciudad o estaban ocupados. Por eso busque en internet. Por ser socio de una organizacion de voluntariados que se llama New York Cares, decidi buscar en su pagina web para ver los proyectos que tenian disponibles para el domingo.
Ya habia trabajado como voluntariado dos veces en NY Cares, una vez leyendo libros con ninos de un barrio pobre y una vez reordenando las estanterias de una biblioteca cerca de la Isla Coney. Para este domingo la unica posibilidad fue dar carino a los animales en un refugio. Despues de pensarlo un momento pinche en “gatos”. Puse el alarma en 8:00.
Me desperte sin poder creer que me hubiera apuntado al cuidado de los gatos. Tengo alergias! Sin embargo pensaba en Sammy, el gatito de mi casa que muy a menudo me visita en el desvan. Daba gusto acariciarle y vacilarle con los cables de mi iPod. Del afecto sale mas afecto o algo asi. En todo caso, me levante, desayune cereales, me puse la ropa del trabajo y cogi el tren Q a Prospect Park, el tren S al Jardin Botanico y el tren 3 a New Lots. Llegue al Refugio de Los Animales sobre las 10:00.
En breve me lo explico todo Scott, el lider del grupo. En dos salas habia jaulas de 60 por 80 para los gatos que incluian cuencos de agua y comida y una bandeja higienica llena de piedrecitas. Colocadas a las rejillas habia descripciones imprimidas de los gatos que incluian los nombres, la manera de adquisicion – la mayoria eran callejeros – y comportamiento. Me instalaron en la primera sala con los gatos que habian traido en los ultimos dias. La sala de al lado consistia en gatos que ya se adoptaban. Mi trabajo se trataba de conocer a los gatos y determinar a cuales de ellos les gustaria salir de su captividad y despues llevar a los con suerte hasta ya otra sala, una sala donde se encontaban unos juguetes.
Durante los proximos noventa minutos, todo salio bien. Llegaron tres voluntariados que fueron directamente a la segunda sala en la cual podian abrir las jaulas y dejar que los gatos husmearan libremente. Mientras tanto, lleve a Erica, Sparkle, Paige, Pearl, Kelly, Tammi, Tabby, James, Letta, Duma, Henry, Ginger y Betty a la sala de los juguetes. Todos estos gatos o tenian poca edad y eran activos o eran maduros y les gustaba descansar. Todos tenian buen aspecto pero estaban aterrorizados y me costo un poco calmarlos. Entre ellos solo Tabby lo paso en grande.
Sobre las once y media llegue a la jaula de Rox. Me impresiono mucho su cara que se parecia a la de un leon. Los ojos y la nariz eran rodeados por un campo de pelo verde y negro que, por su parte, escondia el cuerpo, largo y musculoso. Abri la puerta de la jaula y pasamos dos minutos en conocernos. Al igual que con los demas gatos grandes, tenia en mente el riesgo inminente de tocarlos. De ninguna manera queria que me diera con esas garras que tenia. Pero salio tranquilamente y entramos en la sala de los juguetes donde se escondia James, un gato de nariz negro, muerto de miedo.
Puede que James le dijera a Rox algo que le molestaba, yo no se. De todas formas, desde el momento en que cerramos la puerta, el comportamiento de Rox cambio drasticamente y para peor. Le habia puesto en el suelo para que se acostumbrase y muy pronto un grunido constante y amenazante salia de su interior. De repente la puerta abrio y entro Shavaun, una voluntariada de veinte anyos, llevando a una gatita pequena y miedosa que se llamaba Ginger. En cuanto Shavaun le dejo escapar de sus brazos, Ginger salio corriendo, buscando desesperadamente la salida.
En seguida Rox tenia a Ginger por el pescuezo. Despues de unos golpes y gritos logre separarlos y Ginger volvio a los brazos de Shavaun. Rox volvia a soltar unos rugidos espeluznantes a lado de la puerta. No pensaba yo meterme con el. Sali a buscar ayuda. En la sala principal estaba una mujer que llevaba puesta una camiseta XXL que decia algo gracioso sobre los gatos, no me acuerdo. En ese momento le daba comida de una bolsita a Sparkle a traves de las rejillas. A pesar de no llevar el uniforme del refugio, me parecia una persona que nos podia auxiliar. Le explique la situacion y en seguida me dijo: encantada de ayudaros!
Vaya escena cuando volvimos a la sala de los juguetes. Rox tenia a los tres, Shavaun y los gatos, James y Ginger, atrapados en un rincon. Le adverti a la mujer de la camiseta de la agresividad de Rox hacia Ginger; nos conto que habia visto muchos incidentes violentos de gatos. Se arrodillo delante de Rox, le hablaba, le susuraba, le exigia a que dejase a grunir. Y como senal de paz, le ofrecio la mano derecha que poco a poco se acercaba a los ojos grandes y negros del gato.
La tranquilidad duro muy poco. No siendo amigo de la diplomacia, Rox ataco como un rayo. A la vez que la mujer, a la defensiva, agarro a su cabeza y la empujo al suelo, Rox tiro su cuerpo entero al brazo de la mujer y la metio todas las garras. Intentando sacarle con la mano izquierda el gato la mordio profundamente. Durante un momento horrible los dos estaban congelados. Como idiota, le pregunte a la mujer si hacia falta ayuda. Ella me dijo que si. Me preocupaba bastante la idea de acercarme a la puerta ya que temia mas aranazos.
Entonces se acabo. La mujer se levanto y dejo caer al gato, de alguna manera librandose de las zarpas. Sangraba a chorros de los aranazos profundos en el brazo y las dos manos. Salimos Shavaun y yo a buscar auxilio. Un empleado llego y la llevo fuera. Me di cuenta de que ella no habia chillado ni se habia levantado la voz, concentrandose todo el tiempo en negociar verbalmente con el gato.
Mas empleados aparecieron y de pronto Rox estaba preso en una jaulita. Sacaron sus documentos y le llevaron para dentro. El asistenta que le llevo no le hablaba suavemente y no le importaba tirar de la manija. Sabia lo que le iban a hacer.
Un poco mas tarde caminaba al metro. El incidente me habia dejado alterado pero no me extrano. Como los gatos estan traumatizados, pense, es normal que unos se ponen violentos. Y pensaba que si nos hubieran informado un poco mas sobre que hacer y con quien hablar en el caso de una urgencia, podriamos haber evitado buena parte de esta historia.
Por cierto, menos a Sammy, no pienso ver a mas gatos durante una temporada.
Ya habia trabajado como voluntariado dos veces en NY Cares, una vez leyendo libros con ninos de un barrio pobre y una vez reordenando las estanterias de una biblioteca cerca de la Isla Coney. Para este domingo la unica posibilidad fue dar carino a los animales en un refugio. Despues de pensarlo un momento pinche en “gatos”. Puse el alarma en 8:00.
Me desperte sin poder creer que me hubiera apuntado al cuidado de los gatos. Tengo alergias! Sin embargo pensaba en Sammy, el gatito de mi casa que muy a menudo me visita en el desvan. Daba gusto acariciarle y vacilarle con los cables de mi iPod. Del afecto sale mas afecto o algo asi. En todo caso, me levante, desayune cereales, me puse la ropa del trabajo y cogi el tren Q a Prospect Park, el tren S al Jardin Botanico y el tren 3 a New Lots. Llegue al Refugio de Los Animales sobre las 10:00.
En breve me lo explico todo Scott, el lider del grupo. En dos salas habia jaulas de 60 por 80 para los gatos que incluian cuencos de agua y comida y una bandeja higienica llena de piedrecitas. Colocadas a las rejillas habia descripciones imprimidas de los gatos que incluian los nombres, la manera de adquisicion – la mayoria eran callejeros – y comportamiento. Me instalaron en la primera sala con los gatos que habian traido en los ultimos dias. La sala de al lado consistia en gatos que ya se adoptaban. Mi trabajo se trataba de conocer a los gatos y determinar a cuales de ellos les gustaria salir de su captividad y despues llevar a los con suerte hasta ya otra sala, una sala donde se encontaban unos juguetes.
Durante los proximos noventa minutos, todo salio bien. Llegaron tres voluntariados que fueron directamente a la segunda sala en la cual podian abrir las jaulas y dejar que los gatos husmearan libremente. Mientras tanto, lleve a Erica, Sparkle, Paige, Pearl, Kelly, Tammi, Tabby, James, Letta, Duma, Henry, Ginger y Betty a la sala de los juguetes. Todos estos gatos o tenian poca edad y eran activos o eran maduros y les gustaba descansar. Todos tenian buen aspecto pero estaban aterrorizados y me costo un poco calmarlos. Entre ellos solo Tabby lo paso en grande.
Sobre las once y media llegue a la jaula de Rox. Me impresiono mucho su cara que se parecia a la de un leon. Los ojos y la nariz eran rodeados por un campo de pelo verde y negro que, por su parte, escondia el cuerpo, largo y musculoso. Abri la puerta de la jaula y pasamos dos minutos en conocernos. Al igual que con los demas gatos grandes, tenia en mente el riesgo inminente de tocarlos. De ninguna manera queria que me diera con esas garras que tenia. Pero salio tranquilamente y entramos en la sala de los juguetes donde se escondia James, un gato de nariz negro, muerto de miedo.
Puede que James le dijera a Rox algo que le molestaba, yo no se. De todas formas, desde el momento en que cerramos la puerta, el comportamiento de Rox cambio drasticamente y para peor. Le habia puesto en el suelo para que se acostumbrase y muy pronto un grunido constante y amenazante salia de su interior. De repente la puerta abrio y entro Shavaun, una voluntariada de veinte anyos, llevando a una gatita pequena y miedosa que se llamaba Ginger. En cuanto Shavaun le dejo escapar de sus brazos, Ginger salio corriendo, buscando desesperadamente la salida.
En seguida Rox tenia a Ginger por el pescuezo. Despues de unos golpes y gritos logre separarlos y Ginger volvio a los brazos de Shavaun. Rox volvia a soltar unos rugidos espeluznantes a lado de la puerta. No pensaba yo meterme con el. Sali a buscar ayuda. En la sala principal estaba una mujer que llevaba puesta una camiseta XXL que decia algo gracioso sobre los gatos, no me acuerdo. En ese momento le daba comida de una bolsita a Sparkle a traves de las rejillas. A pesar de no llevar el uniforme del refugio, me parecia una persona que nos podia auxiliar. Le explique la situacion y en seguida me dijo: encantada de ayudaros!
Vaya escena cuando volvimos a la sala de los juguetes. Rox tenia a los tres, Shavaun y los gatos, James y Ginger, atrapados en un rincon. Le adverti a la mujer de la camiseta de la agresividad de Rox hacia Ginger; nos conto que habia visto muchos incidentes violentos de gatos. Se arrodillo delante de Rox, le hablaba, le susuraba, le exigia a que dejase a grunir. Y como senal de paz, le ofrecio la mano derecha que poco a poco se acercaba a los ojos grandes y negros del gato.
La tranquilidad duro muy poco. No siendo amigo de la diplomacia, Rox ataco como un rayo. A la vez que la mujer, a la defensiva, agarro a su cabeza y la empujo al suelo, Rox tiro su cuerpo entero al brazo de la mujer y la metio todas las garras. Intentando sacarle con la mano izquierda el gato la mordio profundamente. Durante un momento horrible los dos estaban congelados. Como idiota, le pregunte a la mujer si hacia falta ayuda. Ella me dijo que si. Me preocupaba bastante la idea de acercarme a la puerta ya que temia mas aranazos.
Entonces se acabo. La mujer se levanto y dejo caer al gato, de alguna manera librandose de las zarpas. Sangraba a chorros de los aranazos profundos en el brazo y las dos manos. Salimos Shavaun y yo a buscar auxilio. Un empleado llego y la llevo fuera. Me di cuenta de que ella no habia chillado ni se habia levantado la voz, concentrandose todo el tiempo en negociar verbalmente con el gato.
Mas empleados aparecieron y de pronto Rox estaba preso en una jaulita. Sacaron sus documentos y le llevaron para dentro. El asistenta que le llevo no le hablaba suavemente y no le importaba tirar de la manija. Sabia lo que le iban a hacer.
Un poco mas tarde caminaba al metro. El incidente me habia dejado alterado pero no me extrano. Como los gatos estan traumatizados, pense, es normal que unos se ponen violentos. Y pensaba que si nos hubieran informado un poco mas sobre que hacer y con quien hablar en el caso de una urgencia, podriamos haber evitado buena parte de esta historia.
Por cierto, menos a Sammy, no pienso ver a mas gatos durante una temporada.
Death at the Cathouse
Last night at about 10, a thought occurred to me. I realized I didn’t have anything planned for the next day, Sunday, and it was going to be a long, lonely day if I didn’t do something about it. Most people would probably start texting at this point, but I knew that my friends were out of town or busy so instead I turned to the Internet. Since I’m a member of the volunteer organization New York Cares, I decided to look and see what projects they had available for Sunday.
I’d volunteered twice previously for NY Cares, once reading library books with children from a poor neighborhood and another time alphabetizing books on the shelves of a different library near Coney Island. For Sunday the only projects they had listed were at the Brooklyn Animal Care Center taking care of dogs or taking care of cats. After a moment’s hesitation, I clicked on the cats and set my alarm clock for 8am.
I woke up shaking my head in disbelief that I had signed up to care for cats. I’m allergic to cats, after all. But there’s a cat, Sammy, who lives at my house and frequently visits me up in my cell. When I signed up, I must’ve been thinking of petting Sammy and teasing him with the iPod cord. Affection breeds affection, or something like that. In any case, I got up, ate my grape nuts, put on my work clothes and caught the Q train to the Prospect Park, the S train to the Botanic Garden and the 3 train to New Lots. I arrived at the Animal Shelter just before 10am.
Scott, the team leader, briefly showed me around. There were cages of cats in two different rooms; each cat had its own 60cm x 80cm compartment with food and water dishes and a tray full of kitty litter. Attached to the cage bars were printed descriptions of the cats, including name, means of acquisition (most were strays) and demeanor. I was stationed in the first room with cats that had been acquired in the past week. The other room, down the hall, contained cats that were ready for adoption. My job consisted of saying hello to the cats, determining if they would like (or tolerate) being temporarily liberated, and then taking those lucky felines to an adjacent play room that had two scratching posts, some empty shelves and a couple toys attached to string.
For the next hour and a half things went fairly well. Three other cat-care volunteers arrived, but they all opted to spend most of their time in the second room where they were able to open the cats’ doors and allow them to roam at will. Meanwhile, I took Erica, Sparkle, Paige, Pearl, Kelly, Tammi, Tabby, James, Letta, Duma, Henry, Ginger and Betty to the play room. These cats were either young and active or mature loungers. All were healthy looking, but they were spooked (dogs were constantly barking down the hall) and required a certain amount of calming. Only one, the irrepressible Tabby, had what I’d call a roaring good time.
It was about 11:30 when I came to Rox’s cage. I was immediately struck by Rox’s face. It was lionesque in miniature. His eyes and nose were surrounded by a circular spray of green and black fur that shielded a long sleek body. I opened the door and spent a couple minutes getting acquainted. As with the other large cats, I was aware of the risk involved in picking Rox up. I didn’t want him sinking his claws into me! But he came peacefully, and we moved to the play room where James, a terrified cat with a black nose, was hiding.
Maybe James said something that got Rox riled up, but from the moment the playroom door closed, Rox’s demeanor changed from “no concern” as it was stated on his cage form, to “aggressive.” I had put him on the floor to prowl around and a low-pitched growl could be heard from then on. Suddenly the door opened and Shavaun, a 20-year-old volunteer, came in with Ginger, who was small and also terrified. Shavaun put Ginger on the floor away from the door and Rox, but Ginger wanted out, even if that involved a run-in with the larger cat. When she bolted for the door that’s exactly what she got.
In a flash, Rox was all over Ginger. By stamping and shouting, I managed to get them separated and Ginger returned to Shavaun’s arms. Rox was growling near the door. There was no way I was going to tangle with him. I went out looking for help. A woman in a yellow t-shirt with a printed cat-friendly quotation I can’t remember was feeding Sparkle some pellets of food through the cage bars. Though she wasn’t wearing the blue or brown uniform of the shelter personnel, it looked like she knew what she was doing. I explained the situation and she said she’d be glad to help.
When the woman with the yellow t-shirt and I reentered the playroom, Rox was still growling and had Shavaun, Ginger and James pinned in the corner of the room. I told her of Rox’s aggression towards Ginger and she talked about conflictive incidents that she’d witnessed during her many years with cats. She knelt down, talking to Rox, coaxing Rox to stop growling, to calm down. As an entreaty of peace, she put her hand out and inched it closer to Rox’s wide, pupil-dominated eyes.
The stand-off lasted only moments. Rox, not one for diplomatic solutions, struck with lightning speed. As the woman pressed his head down to the floor in a defensive maneuver, Rox wrapped his body around her arm and dug in with his claws. Using her free hand to try to detach the cat, he sunk his teeth into her palm. For a long second, they were frozen in a death grip. When I asked, idiotically, if she needed help, the woman replied affirmatively. But I feared moving around her would further enrage the cat and cause it to lash out even more (or at me).
Then it was over. The woman stood up and released the cat, somehow prying herself loose. Blood poured from deep gouges in her arm and hands. As she stood there, stunned perhaps, Shavaun and I fled the room and got help. The woman was accompanied by a worker to a room down the hall. During the attack she hadn’t screamed or even called out, but had continued to try to coax the cat to desist.
Two workers quickly appeared with a wire cage and in no time, Rox was placed inside. His papers were removed from outside his compartment and he was carried to an inner sanctum. The worker carrying that cage wasn’t gentle and he didn’t spare a word on Rox. He knew what happened to cats like this one.
Walking to the New Lots train station shortly after, I felt shaken, but not particularly surprised. Those cats are traumatized, and traumatized animals can be dangerous. I also felt that with a little more training – what to do and who to contact in case of an emergency – the whole unfortunate incident could have been avoided.
I think Sammy is the only cat I’ll be spending time with for a while.
I’d volunteered twice previously for NY Cares, once reading library books with children from a poor neighborhood and another time alphabetizing books on the shelves of a different library near Coney Island. For Sunday the only projects they had listed were at the Brooklyn Animal Care Center taking care of dogs or taking care of cats. After a moment’s hesitation, I clicked on the cats and set my alarm clock for 8am.
I woke up shaking my head in disbelief that I had signed up to care for cats. I’m allergic to cats, after all. But there’s a cat, Sammy, who lives at my house and frequently visits me up in my cell. When I signed up, I must’ve been thinking of petting Sammy and teasing him with the iPod cord. Affection breeds affection, or something like that. In any case, I got up, ate my grape nuts, put on my work clothes and caught the Q train to the Prospect Park, the S train to the Botanic Garden and the 3 train to New Lots. I arrived at the Animal Shelter just before 10am.
Scott, the team leader, briefly showed me around. There were cages of cats in two different rooms; each cat had its own 60cm x 80cm compartment with food and water dishes and a tray full of kitty litter. Attached to the cage bars were printed descriptions of the cats, including name, means of acquisition (most were strays) and demeanor. I was stationed in the first room with cats that had been acquired in the past week. The other room, down the hall, contained cats that were ready for adoption. My job consisted of saying hello to the cats, determining if they would like (or tolerate) being temporarily liberated, and then taking those lucky felines to an adjacent play room that had two scratching posts, some empty shelves and a couple toys attached to string.
For the next hour and a half things went fairly well. Three other cat-care volunteers arrived, but they all opted to spend most of their time in the second room where they were able to open the cats’ doors and allow them to roam at will. Meanwhile, I took Erica, Sparkle, Paige, Pearl, Kelly, Tammi, Tabby, James, Letta, Duma, Henry, Ginger and Betty to the play room. These cats were either young and active or mature loungers. All were healthy looking, but they were spooked (dogs were constantly barking down the hall) and required a certain amount of calming. Only one, the irrepressible Tabby, had what I’d call a roaring good time.
It was about 11:30 when I came to Rox’s cage. I was immediately struck by Rox’s face. It was lionesque in miniature. His eyes and nose were surrounded by a circular spray of green and black fur that shielded a long sleek body. I opened the door and spent a couple minutes getting acquainted. As with the other large cats, I was aware of the risk involved in picking Rox up. I didn’t want him sinking his claws into me! But he came peacefully, and we moved to the play room where James, a terrified cat with a black nose, was hiding.
Maybe James said something that got Rox riled up, but from the moment the playroom door closed, Rox’s demeanor changed from “no concern” as it was stated on his cage form, to “aggressive.” I had put him on the floor to prowl around and a low-pitched growl could be heard from then on. Suddenly the door opened and Shavaun, a 20-year-old volunteer, came in with Ginger, who was small and also terrified. Shavaun put Ginger on the floor away from the door and Rox, but Ginger wanted out, even if that involved a run-in with the larger cat. When she bolted for the door that’s exactly what she got.
In a flash, Rox was all over Ginger. By stamping and shouting, I managed to get them separated and Ginger returned to Shavaun’s arms. Rox was growling near the door. There was no way I was going to tangle with him. I went out looking for help. A woman in a yellow t-shirt with a printed cat-friendly quotation I can’t remember was feeding Sparkle some pellets of food through the cage bars. Though she wasn’t wearing the blue or brown uniform of the shelter personnel, it looked like she knew what she was doing. I explained the situation and she said she’d be glad to help.
When the woman with the yellow t-shirt and I reentered the playroom, Rox was still growling and had Shavaun, Ginger and James pinned in the corner of the room. I told her of Rox’s aggression towards Ginger and she talked about conflictive incidents that she’d witnessed during her many years with cats. She knelt down, talking to Rox, coaxing Rox to stop growling, to calm down. As an entreaty of peace, she put her hand out and inched it closer to Rox’s wide, pupil-dominated eyes.
The stand-off lasted only moments. Rox, not one for diplomatic solutions, struck with lightning speed. As the woman pressed his head down to the floor in a defensive maneuver, Rox wrapped his body around her arm and dug in with his claws. Using her free hand to try to detach the cat, he sunk his teeth into her palm. For a long second, they were frozen in a death grip. When I asked, idiotically, if she needed help, the woman replied affirmatively. But I feared moving around her would further enrage the cat and cause it to lash out even more (or at me).
Then it was over. The woman stood up and released the cat, somehow prying herself loose. Blood poured from deep gouges in her arm and hands. As she stood there, stunned perhaps, Shavaun and I fled the room and got help. The woman was accompanied by a worker to a room down the hall. During the attack she hadn’t screamed or even called out, but had continued to try to coax the cat to desist.
Two workers quickly appeared with a wire cage and in no time, Rox was placed inside. His papers were removed from outside his compartment and he was carried to an inner sanctum. The worker carrying that cage wasn’t gentle and he didn’t spare a word on Rox. He knew what happened to cats like this one.
Walking to the New Lots train station shortly after, I felt shaken, but not particularly surprised. Those cats are traumatized, and traumatized animals can be dangerous. I also felt that with a little more training – what to do and who to contact in case of an emergency – the whole unfortunate incident could have been avoided.
I think Sammy is the only cat I’ll be spending time with for a while.
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