A cat named Weed
Personal Stories of Inspiration, Love and General Observation
From Sam, who discovered the pleasures of living with an ‘inherited pet’ on one of Brownstone Brooklyn’s one-block “Places”:
One day in the Key Food on Atlantic Avenue I was chatting with a fellow musician who carried his horn in a backpack case. After a musical chat, he asked where I lived. “I’m staying with a friend, and looking for an apartment… any suggestions?”
“This might be your lucky day,” he said. “Our co-op building on Willow Place has a ground floor vacancy… the owner is moving to New Jersey and wants to rent it. But you’ll have to take the cat that lives there… his name is Weed.”
Like all “Places” in Brownstone Brooklyn, Willow Place has the intimacy of a one-block street in a small town. Pets and children play freely — and usually safely — on the street in close proximity to their homes. My inherited apartment mate, a cat named Weed, wandered and played as a child would. Everyone on the street knew Weed because, unlike other cats I’ve known, he often strolled with me, following along and sometimes actually leading me down the street. As a new arrival, I discovered Weed had spent lots of time strolling before I ever came. My new neighbors often spoke to Weed first: “Hi Weed [then to me]… welcome to Willow Place.” Unlike any cat I ever knew, Weed would actually cross the street to greet you if you called out his name. But I soon found that Weed’s friendliness with all humans stemmed from what I can only describe as “a huge pair of brass ones…”