This week we're running a small package of essays on the topic of nuisances. Why? That's an annoying question.
Like every other member of my generation who has put off traditional markers of adulthood, like home ownership and having children, I am completely, utterly devoted to my cat, Pong. In the five years he’s lived with us, Pong has evolved from the scrawny street cat we adopted in the Union Square Petco to the ruler of our household. We often quote a decade-old Adam Serwer tweet about his own cats: Management doesn’t need a union.
We’ve invented a rich mythology for Pong’s inner life over the last five years. His hardscrabble early years taught him to flirt and charm for his meals on the streets of Harlem, where he developed his taste for French fries, noodles, and pizza. He ran with a tough crew that wasn’t afraid to get into scraps if he needed to assert dominance. He inherited his asthma and anxiety from his mother (me), and he spends his days working hard (sleeping on a chair in my office) for the money to pay our rent.
In any relationship, you fall into rhythms built around each other’s quirks and scar tissue. This is true even—or maybe especially—when the relationship is with an animal who cannot speak English. We’ve come to accept his most annoying behaviors; his loafing on our backs at 5 a.m. like a sleep paralysis demon is just a part of life with Pong, as are the lost hours of sleep and frequent yelling when he can’t find us in the house.
I’ve always been curious about meeting with a pet communicator, a type of psychic who can allegedly connect with your pet on the spiritual plane and translate their animal thoughts to English words. Against my better judgment, I am woo woo-curious and have spent hundreds of dollars on supernatural services over the years like aura readings, natal charts, and tarot spreads. Do I believe that animal communicators are 100-percent saying what they claim to do? Not necessarily. But I don't not believe in them, either.
I got a recommendation for a pet communicator, whose identity I’m keeping private at their request, and booked a 30-minute session with them. We met on Zoom, and when they started looking for his energy, they asked if he’s a male, six to eight years old, who’s very sure of himself. Pong was sleeping next to me in a little kitty croissant but the communicator couldn't see him on screen. I told them they had the right guy.
What follows is an interview with Pong, through the communicator, which I’ve edited for clarity.
So, I’m very tired this morning because you were super active last night, walking around the bed, pawing at our faces, and talking to us. I feel like you do this more often when we’ve recently been traveling. What’s going on?
I’m trying to catch up. You come back from a trip with all these new smells and I want to reconnect.
(The communicator said here that they were noticing a bit of insecurity too, which Pong wouldn’t say himself.)
Is there anything I can do to help you with the insecurity you feel when we leave?
It's not anything that you're doing wrong It's more just like when somebody leaves and you miss them. It doesn't matter if they say, “I'll come back and I'll bring you a souvenir or something.” You're still going to miss them.
OK, that makes sense. I do wish you'd let us sleep through the night, though. Something else I wanted to bring up: It seems like you really don’t like it when either of us goes into the bathroom. You stand outside the door and cry, and stick your paw under the door in the most desperate way.
Why are you keeping me out?
Well, it’s basically like a human litter box, and we want to have some private time.
No need to keep me out, though. I’m not worried about you in there, but I just want you to remember I’m here.
(The communicator noted again that they were picking up on insecurity, like a mild separation anxiety, which was interesting because the first thing they noticed about Pong was his confidence. Maybe a bit of bravado?)
Is there something you’d like to do in the bathroom together?
The sounds of the water are interesting. We could go at that together.
You mean play with the water? You do seem pretty curious about the shower and bathtub.
I don’t want to bathe in it, but I’m curious about how the water moves. It’s like a science experiment.
(The communicator recommended I look into water enrichment toys for cats.)
Can you tell me anything about your life before you came to live with us?
There wasn’t a loving family, but there were two or three people who took care of me on the street. There was one man who I had a strong relationship with. There was a misunderstanding, the people tried to bring me into the house, and then took me away.
(This made me think of Alex, the doorman who apparently fed him when he was a stray, and who he was named for when he was brought to Union Square. Yes, we should’ve kept that name.)
I’m sorry that happened, but I hope you’re happy now that you’ve been with us! One thing I’ve noticed about you is that you don’t really have much of a hunting instinct. If there is ever a bug in the house, you might watch it or bat at it, but you won’t stalk and kill it. We’re going to be moving pretty soon, and there’s a good chance that we’re moving somewhere that will have a mouse problem. Do you think you could help us with that?
Uh … what am I supposed to do with a mouse? Do I eat it?
I don’t think we’d want you to eat it. You could maybe bring it to us, but that’s kind of gross. I guess ideally I’d want you to just scare them away so they aren’t a problem.
So you don’t want me to be friends with them.
No, that would probably not be ideal.
Hm … all right. I’m not really sure what to expect, but I'm just going to do my thing and just chill, maybe they'll get the hint.
I appreciate that. OK, one last question. Sometimes you’ll crawl up onto my lap and be really sweet and snuggly, and then out of nowhere you’ll start attacking me, biting me and breaking skin. It really sucks when that happens! What’s going on?
Sometimes I feel like I’m back on the street and it just happens. It feels right in the moment, but when you get upset I feel ashamed. I saw the tissues with the blood last week and I feel bad. It’s not your fault.
Thanks. Last week was rough and my fingers are still healing from it!
(The communicator told him that when he starts to feel emotional like that, the best thing he can do is to walk away.)
OK, I can work on that.
Thank you. I love you!
(Call ended.)
