On Becoming a Mew Yorker
If you’ve ever pored over a world atlas, Manhattan could be the kind of place that escapes your attention (just in case a flake of that smoked salmon falls off your bagel onto the wrong spot on the map). The same point could be made about half the countries in Europe, but to miss Manhattan—oh, that would be a terrible oversight. Because Manhattan—in my not-so-humble opinion—is quite simply the best city in the world!
Now having lived in this giant hairball of a cosmeowpolitan metropolis, the one big question I often hear is: Who is a New Yorker? In other words, how many lives do you have to live before you can call yourself a New Yorker? Some say 10. Others say 15 or 20. And still more would go as far as to say that you’re not a real New Yorker as long as you bother yourself with these petty social politics.
But none of this matters. Because if you could sum up the energy, style, intelligence, and artistry of a New Yorker in one word, what would it be? Yup, you guessed it. A cat.
Oh, I know what you’re thinking: “Cats and New Yorkers? They have nothing in common. Cats don’t nibble canapés at Jean-Georges or have season tickets to The Met. They don’t spend their weeknights prowling at speakeasies or standing in line for Saturday brunches. And they certainly do not give a flying f*ck about the Yankees.”
But hear meowt. What makes New Yorkers cat-like has very little to do with their subway aptitude or their breakneck walking speed. If you look very closely, you’ll notice that New Yorkers are a combination of all sorts of people in all sorts of colors who make their home in the city, set their eyes on opportunity, and pounce on it. They’re inimitable creatures with an effortless sense of New York cool. Some occasionally cast suspicious glances at one another while others seem to be lonely and tragic creatures—a true reflection of their feline counterparts. To the outside world, New Yorkers might seem opinionated, misunderstood—vilified even. But once you earn their trust, that they will bare their bellies for you. And from my panoramic purrspective it looks like many New Yorkers live in boxes, and really love it too!
By now you’re probably wondering what makes me the city’s spokespurrson. Well, obviously New York City can’t speak for itself now, can it? But let me tell you something. I don’t remember much of my early days as a kitten or even how I got to the city. My first memory was waking up in a soft bed looking directly into a woman’s eyes. Ah, that feeling, so utterly heartwarming! I knew then that I was safe and everything was going to be just fine. But I also became aware of something else. Something of utmost importance to each and every cat: I was in the home of a cat lover.
Now every time I look outside the window, I see the same skyline as I did when I first arrived in this city. But over time, I’ve come to look beyond the Statue of Liberty that stands proudly on the right, the watery lull of the Hudson River in between, and the tough teeming rectangles of the Financial District all made gentler by the One World Trade Center’s lithe immensity. It’s a constant reminder that sometimes in life, it’s important to leave a place to really find out where you’re really from.
So friends, you don’t become a New Yorker once you experience the hustle and bustle of Times Square, or enjoy a stroll through Central Park, or take a ride to the top of the Empire State Building. You don’t become a New Yorker when you hit Ray’s Pizza for a cheese slice, or nap on the subway for the first time, or see a rat scuttling by and think nothing of it. Being a New Yorker is an attitude, a passion, a love. The city is filled with everything you’ll ever need or want it to be. But it waits for you to create it. So whatcha think? Feline like you're in a New York state of mind? I’ll meet you in the comments section below to find out.