onsite insight
The "Cat"alyst for Community
by Riley
After several high-publicity dog maulings, many property owners have reinforced no-pet policies in their buildings. The building I have managed for over a decade no longer allows dogs; however, the cats in this building are not only allowed—they are feline residents, with apartment rights and the care of many on a daily basis. I am sure many who just read that last sentence had mental flashes of a bunch of old “cat ladies” living among old cans of cat food, with dozens of cats winding around their legs. But this building allows only two cats per unit, with most having only one and some none. The bond of the cats runs deeper than just feline fanatics; it binds many different people together who in other circumstances might never do more than exhibit a friendly nod hello to the other residents.
The building has a large garden on the ground floor surrounded by three floors of units. While all three floors have feline residents, it is the second floor that seems to be the most cat dominant. Every evening, one can observe unit doors opening with felines visiting other felines and neighbors chatting about current events, the weather, neighbors’ well-being, day-to-day activities and, of course, their furry friends. It is a social hour of sorts: animals playing with each other, eating each other’s food and sometimes getting on each other’s nerves, with a little hissing and meowing. The neighbors all have something in common and their pets have bonded.
These bonds are more that just social; they actually make a community. This building, as I have written before, has a built-in cat sitter who takes care of all the animals when their owners go away. Her door is also open many times a day for felines to wander in, have a snack and use her litter box at will. It should be noted that this fabulous neighbor no longer has a pet, as she could not face owning another after hers died at an old age. Still, she keeps her apartment stocked with pet supplies for her adopted guests. All of the people in the building know her and respect her greatly—some even worship her. When this tenant endured a medical emergency last year, many of the other tenants visited, called or sent cards to the hospital. When she returned home, they made sure she had a warm meal at night or stopped by to bring groceries. How many buildings can say they have neighbors who even know each other’s names, much less bring food without request to a person in need?
On the rare occasion that a cat is locked out of a unit, yowling at the top of its lungs, several of the residents usually come running to the rescue and the animal is given shelter until the owner comes home. Equally, if a trip to the vet is necessary and the feline, suffering the indignities of being trapped in a carrier, voices its dismay, several neighbors will stick their heads out to make sure everything is okay. This behavior does not stop with the animals; most of the residents keep an eye out for the building, as well as the people living next to them. Pets are the catalyst, pardon the pun, for people being more than neighbors. Caring for their pets is a given, but the caring for the people around them has grown from this strange club.
This bond began many years before I came onto the scene. I imagine it started with some cat escaping into the courtyard and discovering it liked it there. When I moved in, I came with my own pet: the last allowed dog. He was medium-sized and loved to chase cats, a problem during cat social hour. For some time, I would announce out my window that the offending creature was coming out and all doors would shut until the dog was safely back behind closed doors. Over time, I felt like some kind of social outcast when I watched all the doors close and the tenants hide in their dwellings until I was gone.
Eventually, one exceptionally large feline found herself in the path of the chasing dog. She ran around the courtyard for a lap and then just stopped, puffed up and hissed. My dog had no idea what to do, as he had never actually caught a cat before, and whimpered his way back into the apartment. Word spread, cats stopped running and the dog became part of this strange little community as well. The animals were the link needed for the neighbors to act neighborly, and they found that discrimination against the dog owner was not necessary. Eventually, he even found his way into the cat sitter’s apartment (and the cat food there).
Years later, when my dog passed away, the community around me placed cards by my door and stopped in to see how I was doing. The cats seemed to miss the silly drooling creature they allowed to live among them. Even those who did not participate in the social hour commiserated with me on my loss. There have been many cat “wakes” as well, with each neighbor mourning the loss of the other’s pet.
Tenants have come and gone and most cannot remember the short-timers who lived in different units, but every one of the animals that brought many together are remembered. When a unit loses a pet, the feeling in the building becomes one of mourning, each resident feeling the sadness of the pet owner. There is a time of quiet between the neighbors before the cats and residents come out to chat once again.
On the flip side of that coin, when the tenant who suffered a loss finally feels the time is right to come home with a new pet, everyone has to see and pet the new creature. About a year after my dog passed away, I decided to go back to being a cat owner. One of my neighbors took me to pick up my new furry friends: two blue-eyed kittens. Word spread, and every hour or so a resident stopped by to see the new building additions. They brought toys and wanted to hold the seven-week-old cuties. Over time, I was ready to rejoin the cat social hour, letting my cats out to visit the others while I chatted about my day. Sadly, it has not worked out, as one of my girls gets out and scratches the neighbors and beats up the other cats. People are still trying to be friendly to her but it is with a healthy dose of restraint, as she has drawn blood from many.
The feeling in many buildings and for many owners in San Francisco is that pets equal damage. In this building, however, pets created a community. The people here not only know who their neighbors are, but care about them and sometimes even treat them like family. The friendly impersonal nod when passing someone on the stairs still exists but so does a deeper bond. The cats are residents, granted with less clout than even a 6.14 resident, but residents just the same. With that status comes their responsibility to make this a better place to live.
The opinions expressed in this article are those of the author, and do not necessarily reflect the viewpoint of the SFAA or the SF Apartment Magazine. "Riley" has been a San Francisco resident manager in a large, well-cared-for building for 12 years. The names of the tenants, as well as the columnist, have been changed to protect the building and all involved from the court system and irate neighbors. Copyright © 2008 by Black Point Press. All rights reserved.