Nkwe Pirelli, two years and six months after being kidnapped from the streets of Bed Stuy and hustled south across Brooklyn to Windsor Terrace. Or South Slope. Depending on the New York map you ask.
He was really kidnapped from Serena Bass's kitchen. She had coaxed him in off the streets weeks or months before, with meals. He would come for food when she whistled and she'd let him back out when he asked, every evening. She said he slept under a tarp in an empty lot. But then he started sleeping on her bed. I fell in love with him when I visited: First, he bit me, then he jumped on my lap and curled into a ball. Smitten. I had been wanting a cat again for a long, long time, and had been waiting for one to find me. Here he was.
The day we came to fetch him, Serena tried hard (and failed) to suppress her amusement as the Frenchman and I scooted about her kitchen on all fours for over an hour, trying to coax this handsome but very streetwise cat into a carrier. The cute little soft carrier I had bought online wasn't going to cut it. Like trying to pack a ball of electric eels into a very snug purse. She wanted us to wrap him in a towel and sausage him inside. We didn't want to traumatize him. Snicker. The Frenchman disappeared for a while and returned with a giant carrier, large-dog sized, froma neighborhood pet shop. We put treats in the back of it. Serena snorted and went to put on lipstick. She was going out. Stay as long as you like, she said. She left, wearing a magnificent, oversized, voluminous white puffer jacket, snickering audibly and wishing us luck.
In the end, her gentleman-cat Tiger helped us out, taking pity on us, or perhaps recognizing that we were trying to remove this interloper from his kingdom. Tiger strode into the giant carrier and ate the treats, purposefully. Percy - that was Serena's name for him - followed. Smart Tiger exited. I leapt, the Frenchman pounced, we slammed the door shut a little loudly and the poor cat was trapped. He rolled madly like an otter spinning in water, but was stuck. We had him. Half an hour later he was home, and he is now Nkwe Pirelli, King of Prrrrp.
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