The Drug-Addicted Art Students Downstairs or, How We Got Angelo

after Brian graduated, we moved here from Columbus, OH.  we already had Basil and Hopper, and talked about adopting a 3rd cat.  we hadn’t made concrete plans, though we agreed to adopt an older cat or preferably, a special needs cat–in other words, the cats who wouldn’t be among the first chosen.  special needs cats, who require extra care due to health problems such as diabetes or rear leg paralysis, have even fewer chances of being welcomed into a home.

though we’d only seen the downstairs neighbors in passing (and often detected the smell of pot loosely masqueraded by incense), it was obvious they were art students.  now, i would say we came to that conclusion judging by the way they dressed–you know, funky glasses, wallets with a chain attached, ripped, dirty jeans, plain black or white T-shirts that were definitely not Gap pocket Ts, dyed hair, and all kinds of shit piercings on their faces.  besides, even i own a wallet with a chain attached–in blue glitter!–and i’m no artist.  the giveaway was the black leather portfolio they each had tucked under their arms and the art supply tackle boxes they carried in the other hand when they entered and left the building.

once, Brian ran into one of them at their front door and they talked for a bit.  he told me they had a cat because he heard a kitten in the background.  he didn’t see it, though, and so couldn’t tell me what it looked like.

The Drug-Addicted Art Students Downstairs  often had friends over and played their music loud, but it didn’t bother us.  well, one Friday or Saturday night, they put on a Johnny Cash CD.  this time they were listening to it in the bedroom directly below ours, instead of in the living room.  again, we didn’t mind, and anyway, we like Johnny Cash.  after listening to the CD straight through three times, we thought it was weird, but didn’t think anything of it and fell asleep.

the next morning, the CD was still playing!  we lay in bed and listened to it, then heard it play yet again.  Brian and i were afraid the girls OD’d.  we weren’t sure if we should knock on their door, call 911, or what.  we decided to mind our own business.

shortly after that incident, about three months after we moved in, The Drug-Addicted Art Students Downstairs moved out.  clearly, they survived the all-night play Johnny Cash’s CD over and over, let’s get fucked up ’til we OD or at least pass out party.

a few days later, we saw a black-and-white older kitten (as opposed to a teeny-tiny one) on the sidewalk in front of the building.  neighborhood kids petted and fawned over it, so we figured it belonged to someone on the block.

on another occasion, as we unlocked the lobby door, the kitten popped out of the bushes on one side of the doorway.  it rubbed against our legs and we petted it.  we thought it was strange that a cat that young was out so late at night, and didn’t the owners know better than to let a cat roam outside to begin with?  after seeing it in the courtyard several times, i was sure it was the kitten who belonged to The Drug-Addicted Art Students Downstairs.  those bitches abandoned their own cat!

we continued to have "Angelo" sightings over the next couple of weeks.  at that point, i had determined he was a boy when one day, as Brian petted him, i peeked.  and there were his furry little balls, fully intact.  we referred to him as Angelo because he hung out in the parking lot of a pizza place by the same name.  he seemed to enjoy the delivery drivers’ and cooks’ company, probably because they taught him how to swear and smoke cigarettes.

by this point, our friends were convinced that we would adopt him, especially because we had already given him a name.  i denied it and made the decision to bring him to a shelter the next time i saw him.  maybe i shouldn’t have told them that i wondered what he did on the days the rainy days we had at the time.

as Brian and i returned home from dinner one night, there was Angelo, crouched on the sidewalk next to the restaurant.  his white fur was grayish, and he looked so lonely.  two cooks on a smoke break were sitting on milk crates in the parking lot just around the corner of the building.  Brian asked if the cat was theirs.  when they said no, he scooped Angelo, who didn’t struggle, into his arms.

the plan was for Brian to head directly to the bedroom and shut the door, while i distracted Hopper and Basil by feeding them.  it worked.  i brought food and water to the new guy, who chowed down and took a long drink.  then he jumped onto the bed where we sat watching him as he ate, and fell asleep even before his head rested on his paws.