You’ve probably heard of Bryan Johnson, the questionably rational entrepreneur and venture capitalist famous for his “don’t die” philosophy and for peddling anti-aging techniques that range from the psychedelic to the vampiric. Johnson, who’s 49 and bears more than a passing likeness to Data from Star Trek: The Next Generation (if Data was into Korean facial treatments), recently made headlines for using the duration and hardness of his nighttime erections as gauges of biological health. If you’re an internet rabbit-hole kind of person, then – good lord! – Johnson is the gift that keeps on giving.
That’s all well and good, but have you heard of Parker the bodega cat? The reason I ask is that I thought of Johnson recently when I encountered said beast.
Parker did indeed exude the energy of a kitten: playful and curious
It was a Saturday afternoon and I was walking up Broadway with my daughter when, amid the pesky pigeons, we spotted an unlikely creature: a silky feline confidently slinking around the ankles of strangers and poking her head into the occasional shop as if she owned the town. She was wearing a sort of harness – something you might expect to see on a small dog – and as we got closer, we noticed that she was accompanied by a jolly, corpulent man: evidently her master. Before I could even ask it, the keeper of the cat answered my question. “Yes, yes, she’s my cat,” he declared proudly. “Her name is Parker, because I found her on Park Avenue. She was a bodega cat who’d been cast out, and now I take her for walks every day. It keeps her young.”
Parker did indeed exude the energy of a kitten: playful and curious. And just then, as if to tauntingly illustrate her owner’s point, she popped up on her hind legs to peek inside a hair salon, tail gently swaying in a coquettish fashion. I swear she winked.
“She does look young,” I ventured before asking after her age. “I found her 20 years ago,” he retorted. “Which means she was born at some point before 2006.”
I’m no expert, but a cat that’s at least 20 years old and still frolicking around Manhattan like a spring chicken? Now that’s not something you see every day. And indeed, some perfunctory research tells me that a domestic cat making it much beyond its early teens is doing pretty well. I’ve known cats to live to 20. Maxi, our family feline, broke the two-decade mark. Jack the Cat, who lives upstairs from us, is 21. But never before have I encountered such a mature cat with the sprightly energy and juvenile disposition of this creature that was now roguishly eyeing up a liquor store.
Parker’s owner told me that her vigor was simply a function of her daily outings – both on- and off-lead. I suspect that’s not the whole truth. The New York City bodega cat is notoriously hardy. She’s often seen luxuriating in the sun or eating food scraps, but she works for her keep. She’s in charge of pest control: rats, mice and cockroaches are her bag. She’s wily. Food-safety rules generally prohibit live animals in stores where food is sold, so she exists in a legal gray area, on guard and nimble but always conveying who’s the boss. In other words, bodega cats are made of tough stuff. They spend a lifetime working but can’t afford to wither. To fade means to admit vulnerability. The streets are mean. She must be meaner.
The New York City bodega cat is notoriously hardy. She works for her keep
And all of this is what I thought about as I let Parker sniff my shoes with her perfect little snout framed by perfect, twitching whiskers. I thought about the relentless passage of time, about aging and cognitive decline and the inevitable erosion of physiology and, yes, death. I thought about Johnson’s phallic obsession and his porcelain skin and his blood plasma exchanges and the days that we fritter away in pursuit of elusive youth.
At that point, Parker looked up at me with her knowing ebony eyes and seemed to be trying to tell me something. “You humans,” she seemed to want to say. “You’re all missing the point.” I couldn’t help but agree. Johnson can keep his penis measurements, plasma and protocols. He should spend some time selling coffee and cigarettes. I’ll take my longevity advice from Parker. I bet she’ll wear every age beautifully. An expensively preserved humanoid just makes me wonder where Spock and Kirk have got to.
Comments