A SUPERNATURAL ENTITY IN FUR

In the early 2000’s I used to live in DUMBO, Brooklyn - a neighborhood essentially invented by a rich developer who bought most of the area when it was still a slum.  “DUMBO” is an acronym for “Down Underneath the Manhattan/Brooklyn Overpass” — in short, it was a small cobblestoned neighborhood right on the banks of the filthy East River, in between the Manhattan and Brooklyn bridges.  I lived at 1 Main Street — the first building in from the water — the Clocktower building featured in a few films.  I used to collect river-rounded bricks on the dirty little beach in front of my house, and coal that had washed up from industrial age shipwrecks. It was a big loft space with an excellent view of North Brooklyn. 

I was dating a complete nightmare of a guy at the time, “Boz,” who I suspect had Borderline personality disorder; we used to break up every Thursday and get back together every Monday, for about a year.  He was an old punk rocker (about as much pedigree as I require) and as about as stable as a two-legged piano. Anything could set him off — he’d be goofy one minute and an unrepentant, billowing asshole the next.  He even described himself as a “New Jersey trashbag.” 

Since Boz was eternally broke, we mostly took long walks around the extremely romantic neighborhood, during which he would botanically introduce every weed we passed, and most of the time, he would tear off the top leaves and eat them.   

One of our favorite places to loiter, after hours, was in the garden of a famous old Mafia restaurant that jutted out over the water and provided an unobstructed view of lower Manhattan.   It was a beautiful little patch of grass (we ignored the sign warning us to keep off it) surrounded by trees full of fairy-lights.  With all the city windows illuminated across the river, the effect was wholly enchanting — the coziest, most Ozlike patch of lawn in all Brooklyn. 

One night when we were sitting out there, we were joined by a third party:  an enormous feral black cat — so girthy and jet-black he looked like he was part jaguar.  He was at least 3 feet long. He suddenly appeared and meowed at us in his baritone cat voice for a minute and then did something strange — the giant black cat very deliberately walked around the two of us counterclockwise three times.  Boz had been an adherent, at some point in his misspent life, to the teachings of Aleister Crowley.  “Three times counterclockwise? That cat just married us,”  he said. “This is no mere cat — this cat is an entity.”  I was inclined to agree — the cat was such a personality.  After the marriage ceremony he put his beefy paws on our chests and started licking our faces, like a dog.  His purr was like an outboard motor. His eyes were so intelligent.   He was definitely wild — his hair was greasy.  This was a wild man among cats.  His head wasn’t vertical when he walked like other cats - his head was streamlined for maximum aerodynamics, hunched forward like a predator. 

Boz and I decided we should name him, since he was obviously a cat of rare and intense character, and he had taken such extraordinary steps to befriend us.  I can’t remember why, but we had previously been in some kind of argument about the word caduceus - the name for the symbol used to represent medicine: the winged staff of Hermes Trismegistus, up which two snakes coil like a DNA helix.  This was clearly some kind of medicine cat,  so we called him Caduceus, (which I pronounced cah-DOOSH-us.)

We were all quite in love after hanging out for a while.  Caduceus even followed us home for several blocks before I sat him down and asked him if he might want to retire from the street life, and have a bougie home for a change.  He seemed to consider and appreciate the offer, but as we approached my building he veered off, looking back over his shoulder at us, as if to say, “Later!” 

“He’s gotta go on his rounds,” said Boz. 

“He’s gotta go get his hustle on,”  I said, watching the huge animal sleekly bend into the night. 

The incredible thing about Caduceus is that he appeared whenever we walked around the neighborhood hoping to find him.  He would receive the psychic message, and come and walk with us a bit, but he let us know that he was a professional and he didn’t have a lot of time to screw around.  First, he had at least one little wild black girlfriend cat who lived at a nearby construction site. The two of them would touch noses in a very knowing, very sexual way.   At some point we figured out that the Mafia restaurant was regularly feeding him salmon, so Caduceus was eating better than we were.  DUMBO was his kingdom, and he had the place wired like a boss. His life was lavish, full and free like Easy Rider.  He was a Capo, a quarterback.  An utter rock star, only masculine. 

Boz and I were dining out on a Thursday night, which was always a terrible idea — it was fight night —  but I kept hoping that eventually he’d get comfortable enough with me to stop flipping out and taking the train back to New Jersey in a cloud of terrible feelings every weekend.  I could see the exhausting pattern, but I still hoped I could fix it. 

 Predictably, Boz lost his shit over something at the restaurant.  It was a cold fall night.  I threw my credit card down on the table (oh, Boz, never paid for anything, ever) and walked out of the restaurant to sit on a bench under a streetlamp, right at the river’s edge.  I was sitting alone, furious and hurt at Boz, crying, waiting for Boz to come out of the restaurant and act hatefully toward me again, and all of a sudden this giant weight was on my lap.  Caduceus, sensing my distress, had bounded up to the bench from the bushes behind me.   I was so grateful so see him I was nearly overcome.  I saw Boz emerge from the restaurant and walk towards me and realized that Caduceus was protecting me.  Boz wouldn’t pull his bullshit in front of Caduceus — he had too much respect for him.  

“Oh my God, look at that GIANT CAT!” A woman near me screeched. 

“Wow, oh my God, is he REAL?” Said another person. 

“Woah,” said someone else. 

By the time Boz arrived at the bench, there were about six people gathered around to see the panther on my lap.  It was therefore impossible for Boz to keep fighting with me.  I began to get a sense of the power of this creature.  Another pedestrian stopped and said that in this area, there had been for decades a family of wild, giant black cats.  The one on my lap, she said, was probably part of that famous family line.  I felt certain that Caduceus and his girlfriend would continue this line.

I ditched Boz, because Caduceus was a male who lead by example.  Better than any man I’ve ever known,  he knew how to rescue a damsel in distress. 

All artwork by Cintra Wilson. Cintraw@gmail.