SZ @ New York
Drawing of Chino, December 2, 2016 by Shenzhan Liao
I loved Chino.
I will always love Chino.
There is a soft spot in my heart for cats. Walking in my neighborhood in Astoria, Queens, New York, I would stop any time when I spot a stray cat crossing the backyard, sitting on a stoop next to the sidewalk, or jumping from the top of one car to another in the small garage across from my living room window. I took a lot of pictures of cats in Istanbul, where the streets were full of them, in various colors, shapes, attitudes, ages…I draw cats too. I haven’t had any good models yet, not even Chino. Instead, I followed some cat drawings or pictures of Chino to get the most of the shape right first, and went on my own way.
I love to see their faces, furry bodies, elegant moves, investigating eyes, pointed ears, paws, tails…I quickly got so used to Chino after he was handed to me from my downstairs neighbor George. He was probably only a little over 6 months at the time, a playful kitten. A regular tabby cat adopted originally from a shelter, without any “noble” or expensive blood, Chino instantly took my heart, with his perfect stripes, two piercing yellowish eyes, and black paws. Perhaps the fact that he was a cat was enough. He could have been in any color, shape or pattern. He walked up and brushed against me the first time George brought him to my apartment, while keeping her distance from me most of the time. But I quickly got used to him, expecting him behind the door asking for food when I came back home from work, jumping up to the sofa arm and sitting next to me for a while, making his “cookie-dough” steps and purring and touching my face with one of his paws to wake me up in the morning, finding his way up to the dinner table when I ate chicken, beef, seafood, or, almost anything (He loved ice cream, and cheese too!), meowing for attention if I read or played piano or drew for too long…Chino was not a lap cat and I respected him for that. After almost 6 years, I sometimes felt we became so much alike and our profiles started to look alike. I am a version of Chino without hair and whiskers.
There was a cat Callie, in my life before Chino, from my old landlord in East Hampton, Long Island. The first impression she made on ANYONE was “She is GIANT!” It was not exaggerating that Callie was HUGE. She was almost 9 years old when I met her, with a big furry belly that made her head disproportionately small. She had to pause to gather momentum (big time!) before she could jump on the little table for food. Even today it still puzzles me how she could manage to jump on my bed. We spent a lot of time together, especially during the quiet winter in East Hampton. But technically Callie was not my cat. I didn’t feel too bad about leaving Callie when I moved back to New York. Still, I shed tears when I heard that she died of jaw cancer a few years later.
So Chino was really my first cat. And since I had him almost 6 years ago, my strong affection towards cats only has grown. There were more “cats” in my apartment: cat chopstick holders, cat plate, cat soap holder, even a toilet brush holder in cat shape…I started a research project to learn more about the history of cats, and learned a great deal of their glorious days 5,000 years ago in Egypt and how their images turned dark in Medieval time. I bought “The Cat in Art” by Stefano Zuffi (Abrams, New York, 2005), a really heavy book collecting cats in great arts throughout the ( (mostly Western) history. I truly don’t know what magic cats have to turn a human like me so obsessive with them.
Katze und Vogel (Cat and Bird), 1928
By Paul Klee (1879-1940)
And Chino was really the only living companion I had for the past 6 years. There were men coming and going, none staying long enough for Chino (or for me) to grow real attachment. But Chino tolerated all of them. He might have liked some more than others, for he would come over for some, and just hide himself somewhere for others. After they left, he would come to me, in his quiet, non-demanding way. And I always felt happy when it was time for us enjoying each other's company.
Living in New York as a (somewhat still?) young, professional, independent person with a cat like Chino, I completely forgot the down side of this relationship: that Chino could leave me forever and I would be heartbroken.
On December 1, 2016, when I took Chino to the emergency hospital to treat what I thought perhaps a cold or stomach problem, I had to fill out forms listing me as the “owner”. “Owner” sounds carrying a lot of the “ownership” and assurance. If I “own” a pet, how can I loose him/her if I don’t choose to “disown” him/her? Unlike a relationship with a human, who can change his/her mind or heart, a pet hardly turns away from a loving owner. And you can’t really claim on paper that you “own” another person no matter how much you love each other. That evening, as Chino’s owner, I felt completely powerless when the doctor told me the worst news: It was an aggressive cancer and Chino was in a lot of pain and the doctor couldn’t do much and I had to make the decision right there whether to put him to sleep.
I took Chino in around 1pm that day. The ASPCA hospital on 91st street and 1st Ave. in Manhattan had its waiting room packed with pet owners. “Find a seat,” the nice front desk girl paused for a second, “if you can.” There were three rows of silver metal chairs in the waiting area. I found a corner close to an EXIT and two vending machines. An owner with his bulldog was sitting in the chair next to the EXIT, apparently trying to stay as far as possible from anyone else as the dog would jump and growl furiously at anyone near him. In the middle of the afternoon, the waiting room got even busier, with more dogs and cats brought in and out. Gradually, as the day winding down, people were leaving, with their pets, carrying medications and instructions, or paying the last visit to their pets staying over night. By the time Dr. Glass emerged from behind the door separating the waiting and treating areas, there were only me and a big black woman in a wheelchair with her cat in a carrier. I started crying as Dr. Glass spoke. The woman looked at me and murmured to herself, or her cat,
“Oh she is so sad. Oh she is really upset.”
I asked for staying with Chino alone and found myself in a small room with dim lights and a shining silver metal table in the middle. Chino was brought in by Dr. Glass in a red towel. We found us in this room after 7 hours separated from each other, the longest time ever I felt since from a long time ago. He didn’t look miserable or stressed, even with a piece of his fur in his belly shaved for the medical exams. I could only imagine how hard it was for him to go through all of these, as he has never left my apartment for almost 6 years. His most outdoor time was stepping out to the balcony and scratching his back on the floor with his belly up. But he didn’t say anything. He was quiet, moving slightly more slowly than usual, turning his head towards my chest for a minute when I held him in my arm, while I was crying uncontrollably.
Oddly, it reminded me of the afternoon more than 14 years ago when I found my boyfriend then had liked another girl. I was crying so helplessly, knowing something was broken but couldn’t do anything about it. I guess I loved Chino as my first love, without any reservation. I was so not prepared for Chino’s death, just as I was shocked to know that a person in love could change his/her heart. Both were first-time experiences.
I went home empty-handed that night around 10:30pm, and sent an email to friends about the sad news late night. I didn’t go to work the next day, and refused to take any calls from friends. For the following two days, I stayed as long as I could to be away from the apartment, where pieces of memories of Chino were everywhere. Three days later I went back to office for one day, and jumped on a plane to China for a month-long business trip.
While I was in China, where I found myself constantly in meetings, with friends and families, I would occasionally think how scary it would be when I return New York this time. For the past 5 years, the first thing I did once stepping back in my New York apartment was putting my arms around Chino, who apparently missed me terribly. I wept one night in a hotel in Shanghai, thinking of Chino. In fact, at the moment, I didn’t feel sorry for Chino, nor for myself. I just suddenly got caught in the middle of a deep sorrow, and cried. Then I felt better.
Goodbye, Chino. I hope you had a good time with me.
With Chino, 2014
12/23/2016
Rongchang, Chongqing, China