"Where'd you get that sweater, hipster cat?" "A thrift store."

In spite of (or perhaps because of) its hipster reputation, I really don’t like Williamsburg, Brooklyn.  I much prefer the tree-lined brownstone streets of Fort Greene or the historical charm of Brooklyn Heights.  Williamsburg appears to me like a conglomeration of late-model trailer homes thrown together under the occasional unattractive awning.  Even the buildings of posh Bedford Avenue are an aesthetic disappointment, regardless  of the boutiques and  coffee shops within them.  Additionally  Williamsburg  is peopled by “artists” living off their trust funds and the sort of ass-less metrosexual who doesn’t shave but can discern the difference between over-priced olive oils.  The English have a term for guys like this:  wankers.

But I frequently find myself there, despite its shortcomings, because Williamsburg is where smart people live.  It’s a veritable colony of people who pride themselves on their intellectual curiosity, their off-beat tastes and their artistic endeavors, however strange and/or ill-fated.  And those are my kind of people.  Williamsburg in the one place where men don’t make passes at girls without glasses.

So today I board the G train yet again, this time heading to BARC, which stands for Brooklyn Animal Rescue Coalition.  BARC has the most hassle-free volunteer policy in New York City.  By simply signing a waiver, I am approved to volunteer in the cat loft.  Yes, this Williamsburg shelter is so hip that even the cats live in a loft.   My job as a volunteer will be  to “socialize,” or play with, the cats.

Lately I’ve been missing cats in my life.  Pants was shipped off to my friend’s parent’s house in Long Island when my husband and I moved into our current apartment.  There, she is brushed daily and fed slices of beef.  I fear she has forgotten all about me… and anyway, the family is moving to Indiana, which is too far away to visit without seeming maniacal.  But I feel maniacal.  I practically moan with envy when I see someone walking a dog.  When visiting friends who have cats, I have to resist the urge to smother the cat with love.  I’m turning into Lenny from Of Mice and Men.  And several weeks ago I found myself on You Tube at 11:00 PM on a Friday night looking at cat videos.  While drinking!  This is not healthy.

Scientists have proven that pets reduce stress and lengthen lives. Or maybe they’re in the process of proving that or something.  Whatever.  Can I sign up for that study? “I have to have a cat,” I’d explain to my husband and the co-op board.  “It’s for science.”

For whatever reason, I have an overwhelming desire to play with animals right now.  I know I’m a more relaxed, centered, playful person when I have an animal to take care of, who loves me no matter what, and who does cute things.  They just bring me so much joy, dammit.

So today I  don shed-friendly clothing and head into Billyburg to socialize hipster cats.  If I get scratched, that’s fine.  I’ll display it proudly like a war wound.   If fur somehow finds its way onto every article of clothing I own, that’s cool.   I need  my kitty fix, AND I will be performing a public service by volunteering.  Right?  And who knows– maybe next week I’ll show up to walk a dog.