[in8 iD] and I took another psychogeographic walk the other day up and down the east side of the park, but [in8 iD] might say this is a fiction.
We were walking with a couple of oversized pretzels we’d purchased from a stand. These tasted like salty cardboard. In between bites, I told him my life these days is largely consumed with parenting, eldercare, and catcare — a consuming domesticity I might not have predicted. And on the latter, cat-care, front, I told him we had recently a serious episode. One of our two new kittens had suffered through two frightening seizures, and we were discovering this kitten was likely infected with a cat coronavirus.
I related to [in8 iD], as we walked and ate, that yesterday, on March 17th, 2025, I had been sitting after work in a cafe with my friend Elise. We had been blithely complaining about aging and the sterility or tastelessness of existence, etc. I was egging Elise on, or she was egging me on. I think we were both struggling in our artistic endeavors and, frankly, each a little depressed. We were having difficulty, we said to one another, comprehending both our own lives and the growing destructive power of racist bullies, recently come into rule by popular vote. Even if misinformed, it’s hard not to think, Elise and I said to each other, egging one another on, that collectively our race was not somehow, at least in part, evil. We agreed, in any case, that it was impossible to look away from our own destruction and suffering, even if somehow the race may be deserving of its own destruction and suffering.
I relayed all this to [in8 iD] as we were eating and strolling.
Finishing the pretzel, I had then purchased a knish at yet another food stand and was struggling with the mustard while I was speaking. [in8 iD] seemed to agree with what I had said to my friend at the cafe, but only silently — and seemed to indicate by a stern visage that becoming polemical or didactic about the current situation certainly wasn’t helpful. I finally managed to squirt some mustard on the flimsy paper basket as we continued walking.
It was at the cafe with Elise, I said to [in8 iD], that my wife called to tell me the cat was having another seizure, the second time in 24 hours, and that she was taking it to an animal emergency room and that I must return home quickly to meet our kid — and to explain to them what was happening. “This is going to cost us a fortune,” I predicted to my wife, unhelpfully if accurately, and then hung up and told Elise I had to go.
Immediately my discussion with Elise at the cafe about aging and politics became abstract, I said to [in8 iD], or at least it seemed from a slower, less immediate time frame, and I left the cafe and rushed home on the subway to meet my kid, who is upside-down elevens years old, and who I’ll call here [Mitski] after a singer we both like.
Just a few months prior, our beloved cat of 20 years had passed away. [Mitski] had watched its final moments, which had included a shuddering final seizure. My wife and I had discussed how [Mitski] would no doubt be deeply upset when hearing that one of the two new kittens, which we had adopted in part to deal with the loss of our long-time companion, was suddenly gravely ill and having seizures.
[Mitski] was at an after-school rehearsal and was coming home later that evening. I knew they would be tired. I got home about a half hour before their return, and I was pacing the apartment wondering what I would say to them.
As I was finishing the last of my knish and licking the mustard off of my thumb, I asked [in8 iD] what they might have done in such a situation. “I would try to explain to the child directly and simply what was happening, and I would try to put a somewhat positive spin on it. And I would also take the opportunity to teach them that worrying never helps anything.”
I looked at [in8 iD], who doesn’t have children, and wondered where such wisdom came from. “My childhood wasn’t easy,” [in8 iD] explained, as if reading my mind. “But I’ve a very excellent memory,” [in8 iD] added somewhat mysteriously.
I told [in8 iD] that was very good advice, and I had wished I would have followed it, but instead, having worked myself up into hysterics by the time [Mitski] got home, I ended up blurting out, as soon as [Mitski] entered our apartment, that our kitten was in mortal danger. And the next thing I knew [Mitski] had locked themselves in the bathroom howling in tears. And I found myself locked out, on the other side, screaming repeatedly that, “ALL THAT COMES INTO BEING GOES OUT OF BEING! ALL THAT APPEARS DISAPPEARS!”
Fortunately, at that moment, interrupting this terrible scene, my wife called, and I put her on speaker phone. She managed to calm both [Mitski] and myself down. Eventually, [Mitski] unlocked the door. We hugged each other. Then we brushed our teeth and went to bed without changing into pajamas. [Mitski] lay down in their bed and I lay on the floor next to them, and I fell asleep as [Mitski] sang me a lullaby, And the next morning, when I woke up, all my problems had gone away.
“Is any of that true?” [in8 iD] asked.
“Only the part about the cat seizures and Elise,” I admitted. “I think I’m going to write this up as a blog post,” I added.
“Why?” [in8 iD] asked, turning his attention away from the corndog in his hand, which he had somehow procured without my noticing.
“Like you said. No one reads blogposts.”
“Yes, that’s what’s interesting about them,” [in8 iD] said and then took a huge bite of the corndog.
“We can write a string of interrelated posts,” I offered. “No,” I immediately changed my mind. “That would be ridiculous.”
“Where will you say we walked?” asked [in8 iD].
“From Children’s Gate to The Gate of the Exonerated,” I said. “And if I write this up, I think I’ll call the post, ‘The Ethics of Pet Ownership.'”
“Don’t be didactic,” offered [in8 iD]. “It doesn’t help anything.”