Part 18 (1/2)
I pulled the litter box out from under the ventilation shaft and stormed upstairs to officially put an end to it all, but Nick and his wife were nowhere in the restaurant. Instead, I found Lydia, an immigrant from Ecuador who spoke a horribly butchered version of English but was still able to manage the restaurant because she understood every word of itwhich was a good thing: ”If one of you f.u.c.kers don't do something pretty soon, that cat's gonna die-AND G.o.d HELP ALL OF YOU IF HE DOES!!” I screamed at her and everyone else in the area because I'd finally snapped and didn't care anymore.
”Dios mio!” exclaimed Lydia.
”Don't dios mio me! This nasty bulls.h.i.+t is now coming to an end so here's the deal: I'm in no condition to work today and tomorrow I'm off. So I'm gonna do everyone a favor and go home for a two-day respite from the depravity before I KILL ALL OF YOU! But on Thursday I'll be back, and when I clock-in that cat better be waiting for me with a note from the vet and a G.o.dd.a.m.n bow wrapped around his neck because if he's not-I'm gonna start making some calls. And when I do you better fire up a few plates of nachos cuz there's gonna be a soiree of agencies partying it up in the bas.e.m.e.nt. Catch my f.u.c.king drift?!”
Indeed-job or no job-this situation could no longer go on. This situation had to be fixed.
47.
On Thursday morning I awoke and mentally prepared myself for the day ahead, and though I was convinced I'd lost my job, I was even more certain that Kitty would be waiting for me to take him home with a clean bill of health from the vet. I felt my outburst from the other day-and the animosity and threats I'd now been bandying about for weeks-should certainly guarantee my termination which was fine, as long as Kitty's health was at least somewhat restored.
I set out for Petland to secure the necessary supplies which included Kitty food, Kitty litter, a Kitty litter box and some stupid toy on a fis.h.i.+ng pole that was on sale, though it was probably inappropriate for a cat that could barely walk. I then returned home and no sooner stepped into the apartment when my phone began to ring. It was Nick and he cut right to the chase: ”Uhhhlisten, Craig-we haven't been getting along lately and you've been running your mouth a lot, so I'm gonna let you go.”
”Did you take the cat to the vet?”
”No, but I had him dropped off at the ASPCA on Tuesday-so don't even bother coming into the restaurant anymore.”
I stood there in silence for a moment as I digested the news and realized that Nick had just condemned Kitty to a death sentence. Although the ASPCA didn't euthanize, they only provided shelter for animals considered adoptable. As a result, those that didn't make the grade were s.h.i.+pped off to the killing fields of Animal Care & Control, of which there were three scattered around the city.
Nick continued to ramble on but it seemed to come from very far away, as if I was hearing the static residue of another voice emanating from another phone that was attached to somebody else's ear. My body suddenly grew cold and my head froze and became brittle as if it was about to crack, while a wintery kind of grayness seemed to descend upon my apartment. For just a moment it felt like I had diedbut was then reanimated as an eerie but quiet voice rose up from a dark place within: ”Nick-the worst enemy a man can have is one who operates beyond his depth and has nothing to lose-AND I AM THAT TO YOU. And now I'm gonna rip the lid right off of that illegal ant farm.”
”I don't care. Do whatever you're gonna do. Just stay the f.u.c.k away from the restaurant.”
”No problem,” I said. ”But now it's time for me to go. I've got a plague of miseries to unleash and some lives to destroy. See ya' in h.e.l.l-fat a.s.s.”
After I hung up on Nick, I raced out of the apartment and headed down the stairs in a blind panic. I a.s.sumed Kitty had been at the shelter for about 48 hours and given his poor condition, fragile health and the fact that there was obviously no one looking for him-there was a good chance his fate may have already been sealed. However, in order to remain focused I was forced to temporarily banish any thoughts of an unforgiveable and completely unnecessary execution to that special place in my brain reserved for things I couldn't come to grips with.
Although I hadn't been to the area in 15 years, I knew that one of the AC&C shelters was located on 110th Street in Harlem-about a mile from the ASPCA where Kitty was initially deposited-and only steps from where the heroin dealers used to set up shop and peddle their brands with impunity. Of course, there were two other shelters where Kitty could have ended up, but given its proximity to the ASPCA this was the logical place to begin the search. Surprisingly, I suddenly felt that same old sensation of heart-pounding excitement mixed with desperation and dreadful fear that always accompanied a trip uptown and considered that sometimes one can never truly recover from past indiscretions.
As I bolted out of the building I knew time was of the essence, and in an amazing stroke of last minute luck I noticed a yellow cab parked right in front. Although I had no business blowing money on taxis as I was suddenly unemployed and about to be inundated with bills, I knew I needed to get into Manhattan immediately.
”Are you on duty?” I asked a young man sitting at the wheel of the cab, who looked to be about 15 years old.
”No, but I can be,” he answered.
”Great, because I need to get into the city as quickly as possible.”
”No problem, we'll leave in a minute. I'm just waiting for my aunt. She'll be back in a second.”
A moment later my landlady came rus.h.i.+ng out of a deli on the corner and toward the cab with a paper bag in her hand.
”Here you are Anthony, now good luck and make lots of money,” she said to the cabbie as she handed him his lunch and then suddenly noticed me sitting in the back seat. ”Ah, Mr. Goodman, this is Anthony-my nephew. Today's his first day driving a taxi and we're all so excited! It's his very first job!”
”Okay sir, where are we headed?” Anthony asked me, a little embarra.s.sed by the fuss his auntie was making.
”A hundred and tenth street and First Avenue.”
”Oh Anthony, that's a great fare!” My landlady said. ”But don't get used to it. Cabs are a luxury these days, especially with the recession and so many people out of work.”
”Oh, that reminds me!” I told the landlady. ”Rent's gonna be totally late.”
As soon as I let that one loose Anthony sped away from the curb, perhaps sensing that his $60 fare was suddenly in jeopardy. But Anthony also seemed to detect my sense of urgency, and though I mentioned nothing about the gravity of the situation he put the pedal to the metal. Then, just as we were approaching the Brooklyn Bridge, my phone rang. It was Nick's wife: ”Don't worry, Craig! You're not fired. Nick is loco! Please come to work today.”
I ended the call without saying a word. Obviously, she was only concerned about the damage that could be caused by a disgruntled employee with a famously bad disposition and a burgeoning list of the restaurant's violations, both ethical and otherwise. Sadly, though, her lack of concern for Kitty was painfully apparent and though it paled in comparison to my own indifference toward that stupid job, the fact that she failed to even mention the situation only escalated my anger. Of course, I'd pretty quickly realized that Nick was a completely callous and morally bankrupt individual and though his wife also seemed unable to appreciate the depth of Kitty's suffering, she seemed at least somewhat aware of how it was affecting me. I really expected her to say something. ANYTHING. Perhaps something like: Don't worry Craig-we'll get even with the b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Tonight I'll shut down his oxygen tank while he's asleep. Then, we'll rent a tow truck and drag his fat a.s.s down to the restaurant and make Beluga tacos. Cook him up real nice, see-in banana leaves with essence of habanero to kill the stench of boundless greed and unwavering selfishness. You'll see, Craigthey'll be the best G.o.dd.a.m.n tacos you ever ate...
As Anthony and I raced up the FDR my heart was pounding, my knees were knocking and by 3 p.m. we arrived at the Animal Care and Control facility.
”Good luck,” Anthony said to me as I paid the fare and stepped out of the cab.
As I entered the building and approached the reception area I was overwhelmed by a suffocating wave of sadness that lingered heavy in the midst of barking dogs that refused to relent, and though at first the canine cacophony seemed to conflict with the somber setting I soon realized it was nothing other than a sustained objection to forsakenness. Indeed, I believe these dogs were aware, or at least had some idea of the situation they were in. Certainly, many had come from loving homes where they'd built a single bond with a single clan that had been suddenly and inexplicably ripped away. On some level these animals had to recognize the gravity of their plight and in doing so likely communicated their distress to the others.
I filled out some paperwork and tried to refocus on the task at hand, while ignoring the death and destruction around me as I did so many years ago when carrying out an entirely different mission on the very same street. Then, after waiting in the reception area for about a half-hour, I was met by one of the staff members who led me to an area of the shelter reserved for homeless cats.
”I remember an older, skinny black cat came in here the other day, but I think it was female,” said the woman while looking at a clipboard. ”You're looking for a male-right?”
After thinking about it for a moment I realized I wasn't at all certain of Kitty's gender, but for some reason had always a.s.sumed she was male.
”WellI suppose it could have been female,” I said and immediately detected I was losing some credibility.
”Yes, here it is,” she said while continuing to look at the clipboard. ”A black, female, senior cat with an eye infection and damaged hind legs came in here on Tuesday.”
”YES!!!” I shouted with joy. ”That's him-that has to be him!!! I mean her. Where is she?”
”Let's see if we can find her.”
The lady with the clipboard led me down a series of corridors and as she did I quickly scanned several areas containing stacks of caged, frightened felines. What a horrible place. The never ending protest of the barking dogs put the cats in a state of perpetual unease as they sat motionless in the cold, metal cages. I continued to follow her down yet another corridor of stacked cats until she finally stopped to look into an empty cage.
”I could've sworn she was in here this morning,” she said quietly, practically to herself.
My heart immediately sank as I felt that same, old, sick, familiar feeling that was there all along-waiting in the pit of my stomach-suddenly rise into my chest.
”Please, G.o.d,” I really prayed for the first time in my life as tears were welling up in the corners of my eyes. ”Please bring Kitty to meI'm so sorryPlease bring her to me.”
The lady with the clipboard then gently touched my elbow, and that barely perceptible contact spoke volumes. She then led me back toward the reception area, and to another woman sitting behind a desk.
”Do you have anything on this one?” said the lady with the clipboard as she showed it to the lady behind the desk.
I'm not exactly sure what else transpired during those terrible moments as I was overcome by guilt, confusion, rage, resentment, hatred, nausea, love, vengeance, remorse and so much more that I can't explain.
At one point a black man in a white jacket came out of nowhere. He had a t.i.tle, but I can't remember what it was. He was ”The” something-The Veterinarian, The Technician, The Merchant of Death-but whatever they called him, this was the man that ended Kitty.
At first, probably due to the fact that I was unaware of Kitty's true gender, I could tell the staff members-or at least the lady behind the desk and The Executioner-had some question about whether we were discussing the same cat.