Cats
Even on my most misanthropic day, the appearance of a cat turns me into Fran Drescher from “The Nanny.” Oh my gawd, I scream, and start making kissing sounds like the gills of a carp pulled out of the water. My landlord in Queens doesn’t allow pets, and so, while true happiness and peace elude me, I’m consoled by the many cats I find throughout the day and adopt as surrogates. On my block there is a pack of “strays” that are actually just outdoor cats, fed and cared for by an older Polish guy. I know there are various concerns related to stray cats but, except for a missing eye or gnarled paw, they all seem happy. As someone who loves his life but has mixed feelings about the one living it, I depend on cats to reveal a world to me in which I matter very little, but that will from time to time deign to walk up to me on a sidewalk and tease the grace that I imagine is only found in full after death or before birth.