By James Gonda.
As a cat, there were a few things that piqued my interest. And since I have no patience for mysteries, I decided to poke around. I wanted to understand the feline known as “The Cat About Town.” I had a vague idea of this cool cat in mind, but I needed a clearer image to sink my claws into.
I queried a seasoned alley cat. He explained that a “Cat About Town” is the purrfect blend of a high-class kitty and a street-smart mouser. He’s not exactly lounging in the lap of luxury, but he’s no stray either. He’s where the action is, always grooming himself, and is usually seen prowling alone or with another very cool cat.
After that our exchange, I kept searching. The afternoon was alive with the hum of the city, but nothing caught my sharp eyes or twitching ears except my quest. I was determined to find a “Cat About Town.” I slinked into a cozy cat café, the kind with soft cushions and plenty of sunbeams, and ordered a bowl of cream. While I waited for my snack, I asked the cat behind the counter what he thought of the term “The Cat About Town.”
“Well,” he purred, flicking his tail, “it’s a cat who knows all the best sunspots and hideaways. He’s got a paw on the pulse of the nightlife, always in the know about the latest haunts. I reckon that’s the gist of it.”
I nodded, thanked him, and scurried out the door.
On the sidewalk, a tabby from the Feline Salvation Fund jingled her donation bell. I couldn’t resist asking her if she ever crossed paths with a “Cat About Town” during her rounds.
“I know the type you mean,” she meowed with a soft purr. “We see those cats in the same spots night after night. They’re like a shadow following temptation, always lounging where the fish are fresh, and the catnip is plentiful. We try to nudge them toward the greater good.”
Then outside Johnny’s, I bumped into a feline friend who works as a critic—an expert in the brightest sunbeams and comfiest cushions. He was hopping out of a cat carrier, looking as relaxed as a cat on a windowsill. I posed my question to him. He paused, thoughtful as ever.
“Without a doubt, there’s a ‘Cat About Town’ in these parts,” he mused. “He’s a feline plagued by the curiosity bug. His life begins at dusk when the city’s lights start to twinkle. Always impeccably groomed, he follows the unspoken rules of feline society, but he’s also remarkably inquisitive and bold. He’s explored every alley, from the coziest nooks to the poshest rooftop gardens. He’s always on the hunt for the next great sunspot. He’s a rare breed, but his whiskers seem to touch every corner of the burg. In fact, I’m glad you brought this up. I’ve noticed the influence of these nocturnal felines on our city, but I’ve never stopped to think about it. ‘The Cat About Town’ should have been recognized long ago. He’s the reason why the finest cream flows and why the latest cat toys are always in stock. He’s out there every evening, while the rest of us are content with an occasional adventure.”
My friend paused to catch his breath before launching into another round of eloquent speech. Sensing my opportunity, I exclaimed, “You’ve described him purrfectly!” with my tail twitching with excitement. “You’ve captured his essence among the various city felines. But I must meet one in person. I need to study ‘The Cat About Town’ up close. Where can I find him? How will I recognize him?” Ignoring my question, he continued his monologue. “He’s the epitome of curiosity; the refined essence of nosiness; the concentrated, purified spirit of inquisitiveness,” he proclaimed with a dramatic swish of his tail. “A new experience is like catnip to him; when he’s exhausted one hotspot, he scouts out new territories with relentless energy—”
“Excuse me,” I interrupted, but can you introduce me to one of these characters? I really need to observe them firsthand. I’ll search every corner of the city until I find one. Surely, they must be lounging somewhere on Broadway.”
“I’m about to dine here,” my friend replied, licking his paw. “Please join me, and if there’s a ‘Cat About Town’ present, I’ll point him out. I know most of the regulars here.”
“Oh, I’m not ready to eat just yet,” I replied. “You’ll excuse me, but I’m determined to find a ‘Cat About Town’ tonight, even if it means searching every alley in Schenectady from one end to the other.”
I padded down State Street, my whiskers twitching with anticipation. The pursuit of this elusive breed added a thrill to the cool night air. I felt a deep sense of pride to be part of such a vast, diverse city, where every alley held an awaiting adventure. With a leisurely stroll and a purr of contentment, I embraced my role as a citizen of The Electric City, savoring its countless sunbeams and hidden nooks.
As I crossed the street I heard a sharp honk, followed by a flash of bright lights, and then everything went dark.
When I regained consciousness the next day, the scent of gasoline filled my nostrils. A nurse cat placed her paw on my forehead. A young Russian Blue, likely an intern, approached, grinning, and handed me the morning edition of The Daily Mouse. “Want to see how it happened?” he asked with a glint in his eye.
I blinked a few times, my vision still fuzzy, and took the newspaper. The headline blared at me, recounting the incident from when I last remembered the horn and the lights. The article described how I had been out on the prowl . . . it chronicled my journey down State Street and then the quick ending to my evening’s pursuit. It concluded by noting that I appeared to be the typical “Cat About Town”.