At first I didn’t understand the nicely dressed woman in front of me. She was speaking angrily, but politely, which caught my attention. The Chinese man listening to her didn’t understand her either, so she repeated herself, allowing me to capture her words. “I want a cantaloupe for two days and your attendant says he can’t choose one.” The Chinese man, perhaps a manager at the Russian grocery where I normally purchase most of my food, still didn’t comprehend the customer’s meaning and I didn’t stick around to witness the resolution to the situation, if there was going to be any.
I say the store was Russian, but the truth is I don’t know who owns it. It’s a big, crowded place on the corner of 4th Street and Church Avenue in the Kensington neighborhood of Brooklyn, and I go there because they have relatively inexpensive, high quality fruits and vegetables as well as a strange and delightful assortment of other foodstuffs I’m occasionally interested in. Like Lithuanian rye bread, Italian olive oil, plain hummos, Slavic beer, salted and unsalted cashews, halvah, and peanut butter.
The lady with the complaint got me thinking. At every fruit and vegetable store I go to, customers routinely handle the merchandise, often to the point of bruising the more delicate items. Teams of Latino workers regularly weed through the produce, throwing out damaged goods and replacing them with new boxloads. Customers rarely speak with these workers, at least in my experience, probably because the clientele doesn’t speak Spanish. So it is rare indeed that a customer should ask a worker to choose a piece of fruit for her, thinking that he might have some expertise. Does he? I don’t know.
Contrast this to a typical Spanish market. In the big open-air markets of Segovia, Madrid and Barcelona, as well as in many groceries, shop workers won’t allow customers to touch the produce. Almost invariably, customers request quantities of fresh fruits and vegetables and the attendant retrieves the amount desired, often weighing it on a scale that dangles over the strawberries, at least when they are in season. Using this method of sales, grocers sell a much higher percentage of their produce than their American counterparts. Because they are choosing for the customer, they readily include items of lesser quality when filling the bags, at least once, anyway. This is why the typical Spanish market is so noisy: all the customers, usually women of a certain age, are vocally making sure that the produce that they receive is of the highest quality. “The best one! Not that one! Is that the best one? Are you sure? Is it a kilo and a half? I don’t want more than a kilo and a half! Last week you gave me almost two kilos and some of it went bad so you measure it right!” And so on. In Spain these customers expect every vendor to know his or her product, to the point where they can offer a melon for that evening, the next day’s lunch, or for next Monday’s breakfast.
In the United States, you’ve got to figure all this stuff out on your own. Sorry, lady.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Back to the Library
My friend Manel claims that President Obama is closing municipal libraries. I presume he means Obama is indirectly closing libraries by bollixing the economy and forcing local governments to spend their monies in other ways because, as everyone knows, most local governments are suffering from a severe debt crisis and just can’t afford the services we’re all used to.
My experience with libraries is otherwise, however. I’m a cardholder at both the New York Public Library (NYPL) and the Brooklyn Public Library (BPL). Although both these enormous library systems threatened to cut back services in recent months, the community has stepped up and donated the millions of dollars necessary to keep the institutions open and operational with only slight adjustments. In the case of BPL, people gave $37 million to bridge the gap between what the local government budgeted and what the library system needed to maintain services. Since about three million people reside in the borough of Brooklyn, that means that residents gave an average of more than $12 each to the cause.
The Brooklyn system is an expansive one to be sure. There are sixty branches, in addition to the central library which is located at Grand Army Plaza adjacent to Prospect Park. That library is huge, with expansive rooms full of bookshelves as well as tables for reading, studying, or using computers. But the library doesn’t have a modern look or feel. It’s as if the technology of 2010 was piled on top of installations from the sixties. Shelves, tables, floors and ceilings are stained and pitted; bathrooms are old and unkempt; the formidable lobby is funky and unused; the revolving entrance doors seem like they’ve been spinning for a hundred years.
I’m lucky enough to live just a few blocks from the Cortelyou branch of the library. I pass by two or three times a week to pick up books or DVDs. I often reserve these materials on-line and they can be supplied from anywhere in the BPL system and then delivered to the Cortelyou branch. In this way I have access to almost all but the latest novels and films.
The only problem with this arrangement is that it requires that I interact with the Cortelyou branch staff. These people are singularly and notoriously rude. When you go to the counter for help, they act as if you aren’t there and continue to shuffle papers, arrange stock, or sip cold drinks from oversized containers. They greet only their friends and treat questions, even innocent ones from children, with the utmost disdain. If you address them in a friendly manner they’re apt to look at you as if you were from Mars. Every time I go to the Cortelyou branch I have to remind myself not to take things too seriously. But if I could, I would fire all of the workers there right this second. The money saved could be used to give the Central location a new paint job.
My experience with libraries is otherwise, however. I’m a cardholder at both the New York Public Library (NYPL) and the Brooklyn Public Library (BPL). Although both these enormous library systems threatened to cut back services in recent months, the community has stepped up and donated the millions of dollars necessary to keep the institutions open and operational with only slight adjustments. In the case of BPL, people gave $37 million to bridge the gap between what the local government budgeted and what the library system needed to maintain services. Since about three million people reside in the borough of Brooklyn, that means that residents gave an average of more than $12 each to the cause.
The Brooklyn system is an expansive one to be sure. There are sixty branches, in addition to the central library which is located at Grand Army Plaza adjacent to Prospect Park. That library is huge, with expansive rooms full of bookshelves as well as tables for reading, studying, or using computers. But the library doesn’t have a modern look or feel. It’s as if the technology of 2010 was piled on top of installations from the sixties. Shelves, tables, floors and ceilings are stained and pitted; bathrooms are old and unkempt; the formidable lobby is funky and unused; the revolving entrance doors seem like they’ve been spinning for a hundred years.
I’m lucky enough to live just a few blocks from the Cortelyou branch of the library. I pass by two or three times a week to pick up books or DVDs. I often reserve these materials on-line and they can be supplied from anywhere in the BPL system and then delivered to the Cortelyou branch. In this way I have access to almost all but the latest novels and films.
The only problem with this arrangement is that it requires that I interact with the Cortelyou branch staff. These people are singularly and notoriously rude. When you go to the counter for help, they act as if you aren’t there and continue to shuffle papers, arrange stock, or sip cold drinks from oversized containers. They greet only their friends and treat questions, even innocent ones from children, with the utmost disdain. If you address them in a friendly manner they’re apt to look at you as if you were from Mars. Every time I go to the Cortelyou branch I have to remind myself not to take things too seriously. But if I could, I would fire all of the workers there right this second. The money saved could be used to give the Central location a new paint job.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
YOU GOT CLASS!
Hello English language learners!
Here is a little lesson for you, sent from the real English-speaking world: Brooklyn, USA.
I know you are studying English very hard and you are doing a good job. Every day you are learning more things! That is good. But remember: the most important part of learning a language is being able to communicate with people and to understand them when they speak. Your English teachers are working very hard and are teaching you grammar which is very important, but I don’t think they are telling you some very important things. For example:
1. GOT is a verb! Many many people here use GOT instead of HAVE or instead of HAVE GOT. They say, “What do you GOT in your pocket?” and you say, “I GOT a gun in my pocket!”
They say, “You GOT a fever?” and you say, “No. But I GOT a runny nose!”
They say, “How much money you GOT?” and you say, “I ain’t GOT enough to buy candy!”
The past of GET is GOT and the past of GOT is HAD.
“Where did you GET your intelligence?” “I GOT it from my mother!”
“I didn’t come to work yesterday because I HAD a cold and I still GOT it!”
2. The word SNARKY is important. It’s an adjective. It means that something or somebody is mean, not nice, or rudely sarcastic. In America, it is very popular to be SNARKY, especially with your political enemies.
Innocent person: “I think Socialist programs are good.”
SNARKY person: “Yes. You’d like to live on a Gulag!”
Spanish people, in general, aren’t SNARKY. That is a good thing. But it is important to be able to identify and understand SNARKY comments and behavior.
3. GUYS is a group of people. The group of GUYS can be all men, women and men, or all women.
At a restaurant the waitress asks you and your friends, “What can I get you GUYS?”
At work your boss tells you and your co-workers, “You GUYS did a great job today!”
At home your mother asks your sisters, “What do you GUYS want for dinner?”
Some people think GUYS is sexist because one GUY refers to a man, not a woman. But the alternative GALS is not accepted in many places and GIRLS has been discarded because it is sexist. So, we have exchanged one sexist term for another.
4. In London, when you get on a train, an announcer says, “Mind the gap!” It is a very easy phrase to remember. Here in New York where many people ride trains every day, the announcer says, “PLEASE BE CAREFUL OF THE GAP BETWEEN THE PLATFORM AND THE TRAIN!”
When everyone is getting on the train, the announcer says, “STAND CLEAR OF THE CLOSING DOORS, PLEASE!” After that, everyone hurries inside the train and the doors close.
5. When using the Present Perfect tense, people often omit the word HAVE or HAS before the participle.
“I been to Brooklyn three times today. How many times you been there?”
“We seen those same guys at Grand Central Station!”
“They don’t want any pancakes. They already eaten!”
6. Finally, here is a test for you. Choose the correct answer and send it to latobpeter@yahoo.com. Prizes will be awarded! Good luck!
Which phrase do I use the most at the bookstore where I work?
a. Bye guys!
b. See you later, alligator!
c. Thank you!
d. You’re welcome!
e. Take care!
f. Thanks for shopping at Barnes and Noble!
g. You bet!
h. I hate when that happens!
i. I got blisters on my fingers!
j. You done?
Here is a little lesson for you, sent from the real English-speaking world: Brooklyn, USA.
I know you are studying English very hard and you are doing a good job. Every day you are learning more things! That is good. But remember: the most important part of learning a language is being able to communicate with people and to understand them when they speak. Your English teachers are working very hard and are teaching you grammar which is very important, but I don’t think they are telling you some very important things. For example:
1. GOT is a verb! Many many people here use GOT instead of HAVE or instead of HAVE GOT. They say, “What do you GOT in your pocket?” and you say, “I GOT a gun in my pocket!”
They say, “You GOT a fever?” and you say, “No. But I GOT a runny nose!”
They say, “How much money you GOT?” and you say, “I ain’t GOT enough to buy candy!”
The past of GET is GOT and the past of GOT is HAD.
“Where did you GET your intelligence?” “I GOT it from my mother!”
“I didn’t come to work yesterday because I HAD a cold and I still GOT it!”
2. The word SNARKY is important. It’s an adjective. It means that something or somebody is mean, not nice, or rudely sarcastic. In America, it is very popular to be SNARKY, especially with your political enemies.
Innocent person: “I think Socialist programs are good.”
SNARKY person: “Yes. You’d like to live on a Gulag!”
Spanish people, in general, aren’t SNARKY. That is a good thing. But it is important to be able to identify and understand SNARKY comments and behavior.
3. GUYS is a group of people. The group of GUYS can be all men, women and men, or all women.
At a restaurant the waitress asks you and your friends, “What can I get you GUYS?”
At work your boss tells you and your co-workers, “You GUYS did a great job today!”
At home your mother asks your sisters, “What do you GUYS want for dinner?”
Some people think GUYS is sexist because one GUY refers to a man, not a woman. But the alternative GALS is not accepted in many places and GIRLS has been discarded because it is sexist. So, we have exchanged one sexist term for another.
4. In London, when you get on a train, an announcer says, “Mind the gap!” It is a very easy phrase to remember. Here in New York where many people ride trains every day, the announcer says, “PLEASE BE CAREFUL OF THE GAP BETWEEN THE PLATFORM AND THE TRAIN!”
When everyone is getting on the train, the announcer says, “STAND CLEAR OF THE CLOSING DOORS, PLEASE!” After that, everyone hurries inside the train and the doors close.
5. When using the Present Perfect tense, people often omit the word HAVE or HAS before the participle.
“I been to Brooklyn three times today. How many times you been there?”
“We seen those same guys at Grand Central Station!”
“They don’t want any pancakes. They already eaten!”
6. Finally, here is a test for you. Choose the correct answer and send it to latobpeter@yahoo.com. Prizes will be awarded! Good luck!
Which phrase do I use the most at the bookstore where I work?
a. Bye guys!
b. See you later, alligator!
c. Thank you!
d. You’re welcome!
e. Take care!
f. Thanks for shopping at Barnes and Noble!
g. You bet!
h. I hate when that happens!
i. I got blisters on my fingers!
j. You done?
Monday, January 4, 2010
Favorite Books of 2009/Libros Preferidos de 2009
(Este post aparece en ingles y luego en espanol)
Besides being a year of unprecedented change for me, 2009 has been a year of unmatched reading. I’m just now finishing my 40th book which is pretty good for a slow reader like myself. Just one of the benefits of being unemployed for months and then commuting for almost two hours a day.
As a New Year’s offering, I give you the following list of my favorite titles. You’ll note that, for the most part, I’ve omitted the typical adjectives that usually accompany descriptions of books. In my opinion, all these books were “captivating,” “provocative,” “lyrical,” “infectious,” “entertaining,” and “wise,” among other things.
As always, thanks for your recommendations.
HAPPY 2010 and HAPPY READING!
What is the What by Dave Eggers – A Sudanese civil war refugee tells his story of survival and escape.
The Bad Girl by Mario Vargas Llosa – An otherwise nondescript man is bewitched by a mysterious woman as they traverse continents.
The Way to Paradise by Mario Vargas Llosa – A fictionalized account of the lives of Paul Gauguin and his revolutionary grandmother, Flora Tristan.
Desert by Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clezio – The desert casts its spell on Berber soldiers as they skirmish with the colonizing French and also on Lalla, a young woman with roots there as deep as an oasis well.
Saturday by Ian McEwan – While pacing through a sleepless night, a London doctor witnesses the crash landing of an airliner; the rest of his day is equally askew.
Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates – She wants to make their dream of living an exotic life come true and he thinks he does too.
The Grove by Josefina Aldecoa – A woman retraces her disappeared husband’s steps to one of the isolated Canary Islands.
Fortress of Solitude by Jonathan Lethem – Brooklyn neighborhood life in the 70’s as seen through the eyes of the only white kid.
Monsignor Quixote by Graham Greene – A village priest and his sidekick drive around Spain in their clunker, dubbed Dulcinea, as they seek something.
Dorothy’s Song by Rosa Regas – An unappealing housekeeper comes to dominate the life of a young professional.
Carry Me Across the Water by Ethan Canin – An elderly Jew ponders his fortunate life.
Death with Interruptions by Jose Saramago – The problems that arise when death takes a holiday.
The True Story of Hansel and Gretel by Louise Murphy – Two youngsters are abandoned in the Polish forest by their Nazi-fleeing parents.
Exit Ghost by Philip Roth – An aging Zuckerman returns to New York and finds himself irritatingly infatuated.
The Pilot’s Wife by Anita Shreve – Why did flight 488 go down?
The Writing on the Wall by Lynn Sharon Schwartz – 9/11 provides the backdrop for a woman coming to terms with love and loss.
The Plot Against America by Philip Roth – Charles Lindbergh wins the 1940 presidential election and the life of a Jewish New Jersey family is turned upside down.
The Gate at the Stairs by Lorrie Moore – Babysitting involves much more than putting the kid to bed for a 20-year-old Midwestern university student.
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz – Dominicans continue to pay the price for the excesses of crazed dictator Trujillo.
The Reluctant Fundamentalist by Mohsin Hamid – A brilliant Pakistani youth climbs to the top of the American corporate world and teeters.
2009 ha sido, para mi, un año de muchos cambios y muchos libros. Acabo de terminar el cuadragesimo lo cual representa todo un logro ya que leo muy lentamente. Sin duda me han ayudado los meses sin empleo y despues las horas diarias de ida y vuelta al trabajo en tren.
Como para celebrar el nuevo año os ofrezco esta lista de mis libros preferidos. Veras que en las descripciones no he incluido los adjetivos que se asocian con criticas. De hecho, en mi opinion, todos estos libros son “destacados”, “liricos”, “provocativos”, “entretenidos”, “sabios”, y mas.
Como siempre, os agradezco las recomendaciones y los libros que me habeis regalado.
Os deseo un feliz 2010 y que disfruteis de la lectura!
Que es el Que? de Dave Eggers – Un refugiado sudanes narra su historia de sobrevivencia y huida.
Travesuras de la Niña Mala de Mario Vargas Llosa – De continente a continente, a un hombre anodino le hechiza una peruana misteriosa.
El Paraiso en la Otra Esquina de Mario Vargas Llosa – Dos historias basadas en hechos reales: la del pintor enloquecido Paul Gauguin, y la otra de su abuela, la revolucionaria Flora Tristan.
Desierto de Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clezio – La Sahara domina las dos historias contadas: la del ejercito Bereber durante sus escaramuzas con el imperio frances, y la otra la de Lalla, una chica con raices mas profundas que un pozo desertico.
Sabado de Ian McEwan – Durante una noche de insomnio, un medico londinense cree que ha visto estrellarse un avion comercial; el resto de su dia tampoco sera nada ordinario.
Via Revolucionaria de Richard Yates – Una pareja de media clase sueña con dejar la vida aburrida norteamericana; pero que hara el en Paris?
El Vergel de Josefina Aldecoa – Como su marido la ha dejado despues de una estancia en Lanzarote, la mujer le sigue los pasos.
La Fortaleza de la Soledad de Jonathan Lethem – En los 70, el unico chico blanco del barrio (a dos km del mio) muestra, por comparacion, como Brooklyn ha cambiado – para mejor - en los ultimos años.
Monseñor Quijote de Graham Greene – Un cura de pueblo y su fiel escudero viajan por España en un Seat 600, que se llama Dulcinea, en busca de algo.
La Cancion de Dorotea de Rosa Regas – Sin ninguna razon aparente, una joven profesional se deja llevar por una criada sumamente desagradable.
Al Otro Lado del Mar de Ethan Canin – Un judio, ya mayor, contempla su vida afortunada.
Las Intermitencias de la Muerte de Jose Saramago – Vienen los problemas despues de que La Muerte decida tomar unas vacaciones inesperadas.
La historia verdadera de Hansel y Gretel de Louise Murphy – Abandonados por sus padres en un bosque polaco, dos chicos buscan salvarse de la pesadilla nazi.
Sale el Espectro de Philip Roth – Zuckerman, ya mayor, incontinente e impotente, vuelve a Nueva York y se enamora.
La Mujer del Piloto de Anita Shreve – Por que se estrello el vuelo 488?
La Escritura en la Pared de Lynn Sharon Schwartz – El 11-S hace que una mujer se enfrente con perdidas anteriores.
La Conjura contra America de Philip Roth – La victoria del aislacionista y amigo de nazis Charles Lindbergh de las presidenciales de 1940 crea panico y division en una familia judia de Nueva Jersey.
Al Pie de la Escalera de Lorrie Moore – Una universitaria que trabaja de canguro muestra plenamente la singularidad de la vida norteamericana.
La Maravillosa Vida Breve de Oscar Wao de Junot Diaz – Los excesos del caudillo Trujillo ensombrecen la vida contemporanea de unos chicos dominicanos.
El Integrista Renuente de Mohsin Hamid – Con los nuevos llamamientos a la guerra contra el terrorismo islamico, un pakistani llegado a la cumbre del mundo corporativo norteamericano empieza a cuestionarse.
Besides being a year of unprecedented change for me, 2009 has been a year of unmatched reading. I’m just now finishing my 40th book which is pretty good for a slow reader like myself. Just one of the benefits of being unemployed for months and then commuting for almost two hours a day.
As a New Year’s offering, I give you the following list of my favorite titles. You’ll note that, for the most part, I’ve omitted the typical adjectives that usually accompany descriptions of books. In my opinion, all these books were “captivating,” “provocative,” “lyrical,” “infectious,” “entertaining,” and “wise,” among other things.
As always, thanks for your recommendations.
HAPPY 2010 and HAPPY READING!
What is the What by Dave Eggers – A Sudanese civil war refugee tells his story of survival and escape.
The Bad Girl by Mario Vargas Llosa – An otherwise nondescript man is bewitched by a mysterious woman as they traverse continents.
The Way to Paradise by Mario Vargas Llosa – A fictionalized account of the lives of Paul Gauguin and his revolutionary grandmother, Flora Tristan.
Desert by Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clezio – The desert casts its spell on Berber soldiers as they skirmish with the colonizing French and also on Lalla, a young woman with roots there as deep as an oasis well.
Saturday by Ian McEwan – While pacing through a sleepless night, a London doctor witnesses the crash landing of an airliner; the rest of his day is equally askew.
Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates – She wants to make their dream of living an exotic life come true and he thinks he does too.
The Grove by Josefina Aldecoa – A woman retraces her disappeared husband’s steps to one of the isolated Canary Islands.
Fortress of Solitude by Jonathan Lethem – Brooklyn neighborhood life in the 70’s as seen through the eyes of the only white kid.
Monsignor Quixote by Graham Greene – A village priest and his sidekick drive around Spain in their clunker, dubbed Dulcinea, as they seek something.
Dorothy’s Song by Rosa Regas – An unappealing housekeeper comes to dominate the life of a young professional.
Carry Me Across the Water by Ethan Canin – An elderly Jew ponders his fortunate life.
Death with Interruptions by Jose Saramago – The problems that arise when death takes a holiday.
The True Story of Hansel and Gretel by Louise Murphy – Two youngsters are abandoned in the Polish forest by their Nazi-fleeing parents.
Exit Ghost by Philip Roth – An aging Zuckerman returns to New York and finds himself irritatingly infatuated.
The Pilot’s Wife by Anita Shreve – Why did flight 488 go down?
The Writing on the Wall by Lynn Sharon Schwartz – 9/11 provides the backdrop for a woman coming to terms with love and loss.
The Plot Against America by Philip Roth – Charles Lindbergh wins the 1940 presidential election and the life of a Jewish New Jersey family is turned upside down.
The Gate at the Stairs by Lorrie Moore – Babysitting involves much more than putting the kid to bed for a 20-year-old Midwestern university student.
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz – Dominicans continue to pay the price for the excesses of crazed dictator Trujillo.
The Reluctant Fundamentalist by Mohsin Hamid – A brilliant Pakistani youth climbs to the top of the American corporate world and teeters.
2009 ha sido, para mi, un año de muchos cambios y muchos libros. Acabo de terminar el cuadragesimo lo cual representa todo un logro ya que leo muy lentamente. Sin duda me han ayudado los meses sin empleo y despues las horas diarias de ida y vuelta al trabajo en tren.
Como para celebrar el nuevo año os ofrezco esta lista de mis libros preferidos. Veras que en las descripciones no he incluido los adjetivos que se asocian con criticas. De hecho, en mi opinion, todos estos libros son “destacados”, “liricos”, “provocativos”, “entretenidos”, “sabios”, y mas.
Como siempre, os agradezco las recomendaciones y los libros que me habeis regalado.
Os deseo un feliz 2010 y que disfruteis de la lectura!
Que es el Que? de Dave Eggers – Un refugiado sudanes narra su historia de sobrevivencia y huida.
Travesuras de la Niña Mala de Mario Vargas Llosa – De continente a continente, a un hombre anodino le hechiza una peruana misteriosa.
El Paraiso en la Otra Esquina de Mario Vargas Llosa – Dos historias basadas en hechos reales: la del pintor enloquecido Paul Gauguin, y la otra de su abuela, la revolucionaria Flora Tristan.
Desierto de Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clezio – La Sahara domina las dos historias contadas: la del ejercito Bereber durante sus escaramuzas con el imperio frances, y la otra la de Lalla, una chica con raices mas profundas que un pozo desertico.
Sabado de Ian McEwan – Durante una noche de insomnio, un medico londinense cree que ha visto estrellarse un avion comercial; el resto de su dia tampoco sera nada ordinario.
Via Revolucionaria de Richard Yates – Una pareja de media clase sueña con dejar la vida aburrida norteamericana; pero que hara el en Paris?
El Vergel de Josefina Aldecoa – Como su marido la ha dejado despues de una estancia en Lanzarote, la mujer le sigue los pasos.
La Fortaleza de la Soledad de Jonathan Lethem – En los 70, el unico chico blanco del barrio (a dos km del mio) muestra, por comparacion, como Brooklyn ha cambiado – para mejor - en los ultimos años.
Monseñor Quijote de Graham Greene – Un cura de pueblo y su fiel escudero viajan por España en un Seat 600, que se llama Dulcinea, en busca de algo.
La Cancion de Dorotea de Rosa Regas – Sin ninguna razon aparente, una joven profesional se deja llevar por una criada sumamente desagradable.
Al Otro Lado del Mar de Ethan Canin – Un judio, ya mayor, contempla su vida afortunada.
Las Intermitencias de la Muerte de Jose Saramago – Vienen los problemas despues de que La Muerte decida tomar unas vacaciones inesperadas.
La historia verdadera de Hansel y Gretel de Louise Murphy – Abandonados por sus padres en un bosque polaco, dos chicos buscan salvarse de la pesadilla nazi.
Sale el Espectro de Philip Roth – Zuckerman, ya mayor, incontinente e impotente, vuelve a Nueva York y se enamora.
La Mujer del Piloto de Anita Shreve – Por que se estrello el vuelo 488?
La Escritura en la Pared de Lynn Sharon Schwartz – El 11-S hace que una mujer se enfrente con perdidas anteriores.
La Conjura contra America de Philip Roth – La victoria del aislacionista y amigo de nazis Charles Lindbergh de las presidenciales de 1940 crea panico y division en una familia judia de Nueva Jersey.
Al Pie de la Escalera de Lorrie Moore – Una universitaria que trabaja de canguro muestra plenamente la singularidad de la vida norteamericana.
La Maravillosa Vida Breve de Oscar Wao de Junot Diaz – Los excesos del caudillo Trujillo ensombrecen la vida contemporanea de unos chicos dominicanos.
El Integrista Renuente de Mohsin Hamid – Con los nuevos llamamientos a la guerra contra el terrorismo islamico, un pakistani llegado a la cumbre del mundo corporativo norteamericano empieza a cuestionarse.
Monday, November 23, 2009
What's for Lunch?/ Que hay para comer?
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.
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.
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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