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Cat Cafe

 We went to a cat cafe and ordered from a "KitTea List."


The shop was named--unfortunately--the "Alley Cat Cat Cafe." It doesn't trip off the tongue. It's like the record store that called itself "The Vinyl Solution."

Giacometti once made a wonderful cat. It was on display--for a long while--next to the Temple of Dendur. It seemed to accompany a resting "Sphinx of Hatshepsut."

And my family likes the cats at the zoo. Recently, the lions have hogged the spotlight; the lioness gave birth. But I'm equally fond of the cheetah and of the snow leopard, now starring in its own non-fiction book, "The Ghost of the Mountains."

At the cat cafe, my husband played with a small stuffed kitty, which he then chose to buy "for our daughter."

I studied the scene. You can't bring your purchase to the "cat area." A thick glass window-wall separates the cat-guests from the coffee-drinking guests. To fraternize with the cats, you must make a special reservation; before your egress, you must slather yourself with sanitizer, as if you're leaving a hazmat zone.

I like images of cats: "The Wool Winder" at the Frick and, especially, the "Royal Tiger" on view at the Met. 

In any case, my tea was just fine, and I admired the creative "branding" at the shop. (You could order a "purrrfect" birthday package for your cat-obsessed little one.)

I may have other cat cafes in my future.









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