All cats are wonderful, but bodega cats are worth a special mention.
Most commonly found in delicatessens across New York City, bodega cats diligently roam the aisles in search of rats, mice and other such vermin. Although they’re not exactly legal, and yes, you’re technically just replacing one animal invasion with another one, they’re still a darn side easier to manage than an infestation of ravenous pests.
They’ve eked out their own part of internet culture, with many of the photos portraying a cosy kitty nestled among the goods on the shelves. Make no mistake, however, these guys mean business, and the moment they’re called into action, they’ll stop at nothing to get the job done.
It made me think of my own brood, and ponder which of them would perform best as a bodega cat. My articles have been somewhat niche in the past, and yet, we’ve hit a new low (or high?) here. Such is the joy of running your own website, I suppose.
Despite her big personality, Lafayette is potentially the laziest of the trio. She’s less prone to the late night zoomies, content instead to simply observe from a distance and brandish the most judgemental glares you will ever receive from a feline.
When the cats are on bug duty by the laundry room door, Faye is the most disinterested, and will frequently end her shift early in favour of something more lucrative, such as stray crumbs or a particularly high shelf.
Though they’ve never had a chance to show off their hunting acumen against something the size of a rat, I’m also inclined to believe that Faye would actually find herself somewhat overwhelmed. She’s fairly skittish, and diminutive to boot.
Basically, she’s a lover, not a fighter. There are warm laps to be sat upon, dammit, she doesn’t really have the time to be messing around with something as trivial as home protection. Get an exterminator next time, mon mec.
Where Lafayette shows an apathy towards pursuing intruders, Ezi very much performs with enthusiasm.
I’ve seen this sucker patiently wait for his prey for over an hour, ready to pounce the moment he spots any movement whatsoever. This may give the impression that he would excel as a bodega cat, however the issue for him is what to do once it’s time to go in for the kill.
He has let countless insects escape thanks to his poor hand-paw coordination, allowing them to scurry under the nearest piece of furniture unscathed. Watching his eyes dart from place to place in utter confusion is somewhat disheartening, because he’s really trying his best.
Afterwards, he figures that the best way to relocate the target is by focusing in on the exact same place he initially lost it, perpetuating the cycle of sitting and waiting. Long story short, Ezi has caught very little, albeit not for a lack of effort.
You know what Sami is? He’s a doer. He gets shit done.
Got a pest that needs catching? Go to Sami. Some kind of punk dog giving you grief? Go to Sami. Trying to escape childhood trauma that has had longstanding impact on your young adulthood? Go to Sami. He’ll recommend a good psychologist.
Again, much of my understanding of his capability as a ratter is based on mere assumption, but just look at this majestic beast. His calm demeanour belies the heart of a coldblooded killer, one who will dispose of a body discretely and effectively.
Have I just anointed my cat as being Winston Wolfe? You’re goddamn right I have — he solves problems and he drives real fucking fast, so keep up.
Legit, I really do hope I never see Sami encounter a rat. Primarily for his safety, but also because I’ve talked such a big game on his behalf, if he were to fall short of my expectations that would be a crushing blow to both our egos.
But of course, if the dearly departed can qualify for this list, there is only one true contender.
My childhood cat, Viking, was the epitome of a badass. He would disappear for days on end, eventually returning home with a completely different collar and the kind of wisdom only a cat like him could ever find.
Whereas the triplets have never dealt with anything larger than a cockroach, Viking was a true slayer of field mice. The only trace he would leave behind were a few stray organs scattered upon the doormat. Was this a trophy? An offering? …Or a threat?
I hear you scoff in derision (which is frankly quite judgemental considering you’ve gotten this far in a weird article about someone’s cats). Mice may be one thing, but rats are a whole new ballpark, right?
Here’s the thing, though. Viking once faced off against a raccoon and came away with only a few battle scars. We think the assailant had come in search of food. Viking would not share his dinner, but he was more than ready to trade blows.
About his only weakness was snow. He fucking hated snow. As long as he only has to work the summer shift in the bodega, he’ll do quite alright.