Phoebe Finds a Home: A street cat in New York City meets her rescuer.

I found Phoebe, a beautiful gray and white tabby, a few days before Thanksgiving 1988 as I was leaving a Manhattan blues club at 2 a.m. I was with three friends, about to cross the busy street to catch a cab to go home, when I heard meowing and saw a scrawny and frightened-looking cat behind me.

Despite one of my friend’s protestations that “the cat might have AIDS!” (news reports that animals could carry the dreaded disease had just come out in the media) I placed the shivering feline under my leather jacket. I found a cop to ask where I might bring the cat, and he directed me to a shelter ten blocks downtown, in the opposite direction of my apartment. My friends braved the chilly evening with me, but the facility was closed.

From behind a locked door, a typically rude New Yorker told me to come back in the morning. I couldn’t figure out what kind of shelter closed, but looking back it was fortuitous as I certainly would have left Phoebe there if it had been open.

Phoebe, who is no longer scrawny but quite plump, makes me laugh and surprises me almost everyday. She is quite a character but also incredibly affectionate and friendly. She has accompanied me (although begrudgingly, as she hates to travel) on a cross-country journey over the past nearly eight years from New York to Chicago to San Francisco. Soon we will be returning to New York again, but this time with a new member of our family, my fiancee, Abby.

Like all great things in life, Phoebe is definitely an acquired taste whose qualities are best appreciated over time. To give you an example, even as I type this story, Phoebe is sitting nearby, staring at me with her big green eyes. Occasionally she wags her tail to knock a paper or a pencil off the table, a game she seems to enjoy. She also walks over to me from time to time and rubs her head against my chin. One of her favorite games is to perch herself on my shoulder like a parrot (no mean feat since Phoebe weighs thirteen pounds) when I walk around the apartment.

Phoebe might play hard to get with new people at first, but quickly she will begin sniffing and rubbing up against them (especially if they don’t like cats, it seems) and maybe even jump in their lap. Even though I had had roommates before, Phoebe seemed to sense that there was something different when Abby moved in, however, and a battle of the wits ensued between them for several months (my fiancee had never lived with a cat, only the always predictable dog). After a stressful period for me Abby and Phoebe developed a truce and are good friends.

Phoebe has been the one constant during a period of my life when I switched careers, girlfriends and cities at a hectic pace. I know Phoebe and I both look forward to settling into a routine with Abby in New York and (hopefully!) not moving again for awhile. But even if we do move, Phoebe will come along, no matter how much she might protest.

Phoebe is a fun and loving companion, and I am glad I found her on that cold November night eight years ago. Now that I think about it, maybe she found me?

Even though I had had roommates before, Phoebe seemed to sense that there was something different when Abby moved in, however, and a battle of the wits ensued between them for several months (my fiancee had never lived with a cat, only the always predictable dog). After a stressful period for me Abby and Phoebe developed a truce and are good friends. Phoebe has been the one constant during a period of my life when I switched careers, girlfriends and cities at a hectic pace. I know Phoebe and I both look forward to settling into a routine with Abby in New York and (hopefully!) not moving again for awhile. But even if we do move, Phoebe will come along, no matter how much she might protest. Phoebe is a fun and loving companion, and I am glad I found her on that cold November night eight years ago. Now that I think about it, maybe she found me?