It was a wet Saturday in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. I had a few errands to run and then I was to go home. The plan changed suddenly between down pours. I had parked on a beautiful tree lined street. Some homes had scarecrows and large pumpkins on the porch or colored leaves scattered on the stone stairs like decorations. It was so calm that I wondered why I ever moved away. As I looked down the street I caught a glimpse of the East River so I began to wonder if any one I knew still lived here. The names just fluttered by so instead I decided to take a walk. I headed toward Franklin St. and made a right to India St. Who knew that there was a coffee shop on the corner of The Astral Building. A horn blew from a distance, then I remembered that there was a ferry now on India Street so I decided to take a look when I noticed a cat feeding station. I took a picture and move on.
The murals on the walls between the graffiti seem enhanced by the industrial buildings. I remembered that my brother’s friends would swim off these piers. Some of which are now collapsed. Sometimes I would come with my friends to watch the waves lap against the debris. It was so relaxing to sit in silence just listening to the clash and shush. When the rain began to patter again, I quickly forgot that I was in a rush. Though the wind blew hard enough to damage my umbrella, the brown river birds did not notice. They stretched out their wings to catch the breeze. Meanwhile, a striped cat wandered a bit then hid behind a concrete barrier. The rain was so misty that it began to soak through my fleece. Someone had knitted an image of a girl in pink into the fence. it seemed to say you must be this tall to go on this ride.
The pier was long but steady. A couple walked with their little girl. After a time , i turned back but was surprised when a woman in a large SUV stopped and got out. She called out, Justine. I later learned her name was Victoria and Justine was a feral cat that she came to feed. Cat homes had been built behind the concrete barrier. It turns out she is one of the ten volunteers that come to feed the feral cats.
When I caught a glimpse of two of the cats she told me their names were Justine and Toulouse, Also up the block, where I saw the cat station, was another colony. Their names were Moo Kitty, Orange and Tiger Lilly. We later went to feed them too. At that point the drops thickened and I was getting cold so I said good bye until another day when I walk along the neighborhood.
If you want to learn more about feral cats read this article from the New York times http://www.nytimes.com/2014/04/16/nyregion/a-no-kill-approach-to-feral-cat-control.html?_r=0