L.A. CAT: EDEN

This is hard. It's now eight days since Chloe left her body, and I want so much to give the blow-by-blow on her final hours that morning. But the purpose of this blog is to celebrate her life as well as mourn her death. So this post is Part I about her life at Sargent Court in Los Angeles, where we lived for 10 years until 2004.

As I mentioned, Chloe and I fled Topanga Canyon where I'd been living while sorting out my divorce. We did a reverse Adam & Eve and ended up in "Eden" (aka "Elysian Park"). At one time that whole area used to be called "Edendale."

The apartments on Sargent Court were composed of two buildings designed in 1947 in an outré villas style--one blue and one peach--perched on a hill, boasting palatial gardens and a 180 degree view of Los Angeles. Directly below were the Echo Park barrios and Latino shopping. Directly across the narrow street from us was the arboretum of Elysian Park with hiking trails that went for miles and picnic areas and glamorous date palms looming in a row along the strip of road that led to the Police Academy in one direction and Dodgers Stadium in the other.

When I first asked the manager if she allowed animals, she'd replied, "Only cats." So the place had its share of felines and what my neighbor Glen called "kitty politics."

The rent was outrageously cheap and the apartments rented to artists at varying ranks of success. I felt immediately at home. My apartment had a big hole in its screen door that Chloe would jump through to get in and out. The apartments were so remote that the common belief among tenants was that no crime could ever occur there.

We lived in a first floor studio with a wall of windows that looked out at a jumble of tropical plants that the live-in maintenance man and avid gardener, Cervantes, tended. "I am making a jungle for you," he said. I was nursing a broken heart and for weeks, lay on the carpet unable to do more than cry, with Chloe on my stomach giving off soothing purrs.

Chloe enjoyed leaping out of the windows which had no screens. And one day she popped into a neighbor's window, squeaking her "good morning" meows and alarming the neighbor. "What's wrong with her?" the neighbor asked. "I couldn't figure out what she wanted." She had no cat. In fact, she was a dog person.

It's safe to say we were not comprehended by most of our neighbors. But we comprehended each other and that was enough.

After I began working again, I came home one day to Glen's scolding. He accosted me, saying: "Your cat has been causing trouble!" He had six cats of his own in his studio apartment and would never allow any of them out. I'd left Chloe outside while I was gone, confident that she wouldn't leave me. She had a sharp intelligence that made it easy for us to reach an understanding about this.

"What did she do?" I asked. Glen explained that she had been "tormenting" a neighbor's cat by hiding in the daisy bush that grew in the planter in front of our apartment and was in full yellow bloom...and she'd wait for this cat to walk by and then jump out at him, scaring him.

"It's not very ladylike," Glen said.

"She wants to be Queen of the Hill," Glenn huffed as he walked away. "But she's not going to be Queen of the Hill." No, I thought, because you've got dibs on that.

Chloe's "victim" was Oscar who was slightly brain damaged from a botched operation and slow. The next day, I saw Chloe jump into the planter and hide in the daisies when Oscar came along. He paused and looked straight at her. She looked at him through the flowers. Then she jumped and he drew back a few steps. It was very playful.

For a cat who didn't like other cats, she was starting to make playmates.

Oscar's human Robert was a gorgeous hunk who was a trainer at a gym by day and avant-garde musician at night. The first time we talked and he told me about Oscar, he said, "Oscar was the first person I met when I came to Sargent Court" (he'd belonged to a tenant who then moved out and left him). I laughed and said, "Person!"

Now, 14 years later, I don't think it's so funny.

There was a calico that roamed the estate who belonged to a married couple. Her name was Cecil. I knew that if Chloe hadn't been there, Cecil and I would have been best friends. She was always appearing when I was reading at the picnic table under the pomegranate tree, and asking to be loved. Once or twice, I caught Chloe glaring from afar.

But Chloe and Cecil developed an uneasy rapport. One lazy warm afternoon, Cecil climbed on top of a stack of lumber and fell asleep in the shade. I saw Chloe come along, stand in front of Cecil looking up at her. Then she stretched out a tentative paw, as if to poke Cecil awake.

Cecil opened her eyes and stared down as if to say, "Don't even think about it." Chloe withdrew her paw. And they stayed that way for a while.

Just as there were cat lovers in the building, there were those who were less fond. I was invited to a Christmas party given by the neighbor who had the biggest and nicest apartment with the best view. She was an up and coming film director, and many of her film friends were installed in the apartments. Glen was not one of them.

At some point, the guests got onto the subject of Glen and his cats. The hostess made fun of the way he would come home every night and yell out (the guests joined her in imitation): "KITTIES, DADDY'S HOME!"

Months later, I was talking with this filmmaker outside her apartment where she was gardening and suddenly she said, "Chloe's sitting on a zinnia." I turned to look and thought it was cute. Chloe stood up and where her ass had been, the flower popped back up as fresh as ever.

This ends Part I of Sargent Court and Chloe.