#like i grew up in bedstuy

[naimee]

being living proof that black trans niggas have always been here makes me feel so blessed.

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

hi! i saw your post about how true the makers of atsv were to real-life brooklyn and i loved it so much that i just had to ask if you'd be willing to make a more in-depth analysis on that? i'm not from america but i adore the movie so it's very interesting to hear firsthand accounts about its authenticity from locals! ofc this is just a humble request and i completely understand if the answer is no <3

I'd LOVE to! The Spiderverse Series is honestly the most accurate movie of New York I've seen in my life - including live-action movies. I say that not just in essence but in everything. And Across the Universe takes it over the top. Like, INSANELY so.

Across The Spiderverse & It's Dedication to Cultural Accuracy [aka ATSV is so goddamn good I can tell you exactly what street Gwen and Miles went to Mumbattan from. It's that accurate.]

I'm a black, afro-latino, and a born and raised 'Brooklynite'. Despite there being thousands of movies of New York, I'd say less than 5 percent of them are in any way accurate or current. (Yellow taxi cabs are no longer a thing here really.)

But Across the Spiderverse defies that in every way - nailing it historically, culturally, and even by replicating exact locations.

Wanna see the Bodega Spot robbed? Cause it's a real, random bodega! And the building he goes into at the end - I can tell you exactly where it is, with 100% assurity. All by street signs.

In the first scene with Spot we see him standing outside on the curb, looking into the store. On the corner there is a street sign that reads Fulton St.

Fulton is an actual street in BedStuy (Bedford Stuyvesant, pronounced Bed-St-eye), literally a stone's throw from my house. And they take it further.

Although it can be hard to see, the other side to the left of it reads Nostrand Ave. Fulton and Nostrand is a very popular intersection in the neighborhood, mainly because there's a subway station for the A line located on one corner.

There's Nostrand and Fulton.

But if you turn to the other corner you see...A Bodega! Looks familar?

That's the bodega Spot robbed.

99% of the people who watch this movie will be from New York. Even less will be from BedStuy. Even less will catch the split second sign on the corner, only on screen for only a few frames.

It took me 3 watches to notice. But I noticed. And my jaw dropped. How much that means is unexplainable. I've been on that corner, and the TacoBell across the street. And so has Miles. That's insane.

It doesn't stop there.

Spot enters the store, as we pass we see a sticker for 'WIC/EBT' on the cashier's counter. I'm not sure how common this is - but WIC and EBT standards for Welfare Benefits and Food Stamps. As you cannot buy warm food with Food Stamps (sadly), lots of bodegas advertise taking EBT for the deli sandwiches.

Nice shout out to the struggling families in the communities, I love a Bodega that takes EBT.

We move towards the back of the store - In the Bodega while Spot messes with the ATM we get a wider shot, and another very insanely specific shout out.

Behind Spot is a sign showing a Beef Patty (which I'll mention in a moment) and a sun logo called 'Sunny Patty'.

This is a direct call out to a specific chain of Beef Patty shops in Brooklyn and Harlem called 'Golden Krust'.

I cannot stress how much of a niche reference this is! Golden Krusts only exist in low income neighborhoods - mainly in Brooklyn, Harlem, and the Bronx. If you're anywhere near Times Square or any place else New York shows choose to portray - you're not finding a Golden Krust.

Golden Krusts are store that is ingrained in Caribbean culture, which Brooklyn is full of - hence the adapted Jamaican flag up front. I grew up eating Golden Krust and I'd eat it more if they didn't close so goddamn early.

But it's there.

Once again, only a few pixels, only a few frames, but someone probably took 6 hours drawing that. For the 0.009% of the people who'll get the reference. Low-income, black New Yorkers - like me.

ATSV is so accurate that you can even find the exact spot in which Miles and Gwen leave through the portal.

But before I tell you where it is - I wanna talk about why it's so important.

It's important because one of the most famous Spider-man scenes in history is just plain WRONG to New Yorkers.

This scene is ENTIRELY incorrect, and I knew it even as a child.

Firstly, based on the skyscrapers everywhere, this is solidly Manhattan. The train says Bay Ridge, which is in South Brooklyn, maybe 40 minutes away by train. So I'm going to assume this is the Q or B train, running through Manhattan. Which, okay they do, but -

There are NO elevated trains in Manhattan. The Q, like every other train, only goes above ground in Brooklyn and Queens. This is very clearly Chicago.

So he couldn't be doing this. It's a simple but HUGE fuck up. Any one born in New York will notice it because Manhattan just looks wrong with elevated trains.

And it would've been fine if they just set it in Brooklyn where Bay Ridge and the elevated trains actually are.

But instead they made generic Manhattan streets - so much so I can't even tell what neighborhood they're in. Do you see how this is such a problem?

Across The Spiderverse is animated. And they still put in the effort.

I can't tell you where Peter Parker is stopping that train - it ain't Manhattan - but I CAN tell you where Miles and Gwen leave for Mumbattan.

So let's go back to where we started. We're on Fulton and Nostrand both in BedStuy.

Throughout the fight, we see Spot and Miles go through a couple streets - most notably a very popular street in the neighborhood - Broadway.

This happens twice, once while fighting Spot, and once when Miles and Gwen grab the hot dogs. They show this twice, cause this will be important for what we're trying to do.

Now this may not make any sense to you, since it's just random streets, but I'm about to tie it together.

Gwen releases the bug near an elevated train. When we see Miles and Gwen swinging, they cling to a train. Now, it's hard to tell what train this is but so far we know.

We're in Brooklyn

We're near Broadway

We're near an elevated train line

There's a station on Broadway called Broadway Junction. It serves the G line and the J,M,Z line.

When we see the train pass by, we get a glimpse of the model. Each train line has a slightly different variation, with some being a lot old. The one that passes is one of the newer ones.

(Once again, very accurate, as those models do run on elevated lines)

And although we can't see the letter on the train, by that alone, I can guess we're by the elevated J,M,Z lines in BedStuy - near Broadway Junction. Easy. Now we just need to know what stop we're at.

Well, they tell us that too. Finally, When Spot heads into the building we get a glimpse of the exact street he's on - Bedford.Ave

So I just threw a LOT of information at you - but look at this map of the J,M,Z line and hopefully it comes together

At the bottom along the green line - we see Bedford/Nostrand Ave. Remember, the robbery starts us off on Nostrand. Let's move up the green line. We get to a part where the green line passes the brown and orange ones - the JMZ trains.

They connect at Broadway (Officially Broadway Junction Station). We see Broadway with the hot dog vendor there.

If we move to left of Broadway we see Marcy Av. - and if we look to the left OF THAT we see a faint white line heading north.

THAT line is Bedford Ave. Where Spot enters the building.

Because we know they're in Brooklyn, and we know they passed Broadway. Plus we know they're now on Bedford by an elevated train that runs newer models.

So from those signs alone we can definitely say that Spot is on Bedford Ave. and Broadway. Next to the JMZ elevated trains, two stops from Broadway Junction in Brooklyn.

100% that's the spot (lol). That's the only place Bedford crosses an elevated train. And as a New Yorker, I got that from this photo.

Trust me when I say - we can tell.

By those short shots of street signs, we know that Miles started in BedStuy, swung north towards Broadway, then took a turn towards Bedford Ave in Williamsburg. And that's where Gwen plants the bug - and the place she returns to before going to Mumbattan.

Is that crazy? That's CRAZY. Percision accuracy that I have never seen in a movie live-action or otherwise.

All throughout the first scenes of ATSV - they are on actual streets, that are reasonably within swinging distance of each other, along actual train lines - with their stations accurately located.

That's INSANE. There was no need for that amount of detail, but they did it anyway.

There's SO many times in Spider-men movies where they'll start swinging in Queens, and then the next scene is like Upper Manhattan. They don't label the neighborhoods, but from buildings alone, I can tell what neighborhood it is.

And I'm supposed to believe Peter just swung 2 and a half boroughs in twenty minutes. I don't notice. But I NOTICE.

Here, Miles and Gwen are truly swinging accurate distances in the right amount of time. That's mental. And refreshing!

In a live action movie - they have NO excuse. Just film in the city, it's not like we're Gotham. And we give film crews huge tax breaks. In an animated movie - completely understandable. But they still said 'No, that's subpar.' and went the extra mile.

They didn't even have to show ANY street signs, they could've left it at the easter egg at the corner store.

But they didn't. Because they're telling a story about a Black kid from Brooklyn, who leaves for someplace completely unfamiliar. BedStuy is Miles' home, and they wanted to make it feel that way. So when he's not there - in the cold polish of Neuva York - you can feel it.

You can feel Miles leaving his warm, rich community when he lacks that community in the Society. In the movie and IRL, BedStuy is so full of color, with so many people doing so many things and sharing so many cultures.

And in the society, everyone is the same. There's no culture. That's dedication.

Because of a train in Spider-man 2, I was immediately taken out of the story. And because of train in ATSV, I was immediately brought in.

For once, it feels like they're swinging around a neighborhood - cause they are.

A Large Detail in ATSV:

So I talked about Trinity Church - the real church that Peter Parker was buried at in ITSV - and how accurate the team got it to the actual building.

In fact, this is the spot where Miles is standing.

Like he's standing maybe 20 feet AT most from this spot, you can see in the windows and spires at the top.

But I also wanna explain why this - and why the fact that Peter was buried there is SO important.

Trinty Church is one of the most famous historical churches in the United States. It was started by the first English settlers in New York. It's extremely famous, and extremely sentimental.

For reference - Alexander Hamilton and his family are also buried at Trinity Church, along with dozens of other important US historical figures - across centuries.

You can't just be buried in Trinity. It's a city landmark. The cemetery is full, small, and you CANNOT pay your way in. The church is extremely choosy with who they will bury there - and honestly, I don't think anyone has been buried there for maybe a century or more.

So for the city to bury Peter Parker's body in the most prominent church in all of the city, if not the country - that speaks VOLUMES.

Like I said in the last post, my father use to work at Trinity Church - and they're the whole deal. Candles burning everywhere, super quiet and devote. The church has catacombs under it, everything.

They didn't just bury him anywhere. The people of New York went out of their way to give Peter Parker the most honorable burial physically possible within the city of New York.

The highest honor for any New Yorker. One reserved only for Spider-man.

Which I think was an amazing touch. Especially since Trinity is in downtown Manhattan - so anyone could come visit and pay respects.

Other Cultural Accuracies

Before we wrap up I wanna breeze through some other cultural accuracies that appear in ATSV.

Miles stops to eat a Jamaican Beef Patty while in the Bodgea. I spoke about these earlier with the Golden Krust sign. Jamaican beef patties are these flaky pastries colored with tumeric, full of spicy meat. And they are very popular with the large Carribean community in Brooklyn - which I'm apart of :)

In the case, we see the Beef Patties labeled with red dots. But Miles seems to go for the only one without it.

I'm guessing the red dots indicate which ones are the spicy Beef Patties and which ones are the mild, and Miles grabbed the last mild one they had.

They draw it really well, especially while Miles is eating it.

"Spider-man seems more Dominican." Genuine question - did anyone laugh at this joke in your theatre?

Because all three times I went, people laughed. The first time people LOVED that joke.

NYC, especially the Bronx has a HUGE Puerto Rican AND Dominican population - many times living side by side

And there's this kinda 'beef' in the same way Yankees fans have beef with the Mets fans (NYC baseball teams)

The best way I can describe the joke is that they're two very strong, very proud Spanish cultures that are often mistaken for each other - but Puerto Ricans and Dominicans can very obviously tell each other apart. Mainly because of the Spanish they speak.

So for him and his mom to have that back and forth, it's kinda an inside joke of Puerto Ricans and Dominicans getting confused for each other - but them being able to tell the difference.

His mom says Spider-man is Puerto Rican, but Miles corrects her - without backing it up with any reason.

It's like they can just TELL.

I don't know how else to explain the joke but its a very New Yorker thing to do - discuss that out like that.

Since a lot of us are the children of immigrants - it's knee-jerk to identify with your parent country and not this one.

If you ask someone in New York 'What are you'. Many young people (me included) would say "Oh I'm *parents nationality*." In my case, I say I'm Bajan and Peruvian. Even though I was born in New York.

Miles would say he's Puerto Rican though he's never been.

So them discussing where Spider-man is 'from' even though he's obviously a New Yorker is the joke.

Like - someone on the writing team HAD to be from New York to add that in cause it's so...oddly New Yorker???

While swinging Miles and Gwen pass the B46 bus. Once again, completely accurate. The scene starts on Nostrand and Fulton. The B46 does indeed stop on Fulton St.

When they're swinging, the movie accurately shows the new World Trade Center (aka The Freedom Tower) - which is the tallest building in the picture.

Also, the bridge to the LEFT is the Brooklyn Bridge, while the tall one on the right is Manhattan Bridge. Many people don't know there's actually two bridges. (There's more but those two are the main ones)

Good on them for showing both Bridges, both accurately placed as well

Fun fact: Trains run over the Manhattan Bridge - the Q, B and a couple others (beautiful - I love it when they do) but trains do not run over the Brooklyn Bridge.

And lastly, when Miles and Spot are on Broadway, the school behind them is actually architecturally accurate for a Brooklyn school. So much so that design is iconic.

______________________ So those are most if not all of the cultural accuracies in Across the Spiderverse!

I cannot stress enough how ridiculously bang on this movie is in terms of everything.

The team put in so much work, and it paid off. To me, at least.

I don't feel like Miles is some kid from a different alternative New York. I feel like he's a real kid in MY New York. From everything down to his Jordans (don't even get me started on how much Jordan's has a CHOKEHOLD on teenagers in New York. Like...it's a status thing. Even since I was a kid, everyone wanted Jordans. Jordans or Nike Air Force 1s. So having Miles wear Jordans is my favorite thing cause yea a kid from BedStuy would think those are flyest shit ever even though they're just regular degular Jordans lol. And you KNOW Miles 42 a sneakerhead. Look at those shoes. He aint creasing those)

This movie, is chef's kiss. It tops all other New York portrays - live-action or otherwise and I stand on that.

If you read this far, thank you SO much. I love sharing New York culture (and the cultures that make it what it is to begin with) and I'm SO happy I can share this stuff and hopefully help people appreciate the movie more too!

If you learned something or have any questions, I'm all ears!

And I usually leave a photo of Hobie here as a send-off but this post hit the photo limit LMAOOOOOO

Bye.

[lanitaminaj]

eres mía 💋

in which miguel finds a way to make you committed to him forever.

smut, dominican miguel o’ hara

miguel was always a bit jealous when it came to you.

he hated the fact you walked around nueva york alone, garnering lustful stares from the perverted men that sat on bedstuy’s brown-house steps. he hated the fact that it was summer, so all you’ve been wearing was those tight summer dresses all month long.

“pero, papi,” you would tell him. “it’s hot out. what else am i supposed to wear?”

even if you were out with friends, that didn’t stop men from catcalling you like they did on the regular.

“mira esa vaina,” you told him recently, giggling as you showed him the brown, slightly ripped napkin that held the illegible, scribbled-on hint of a phone number of a man who’d given it to you. “some chump gave it to me. told me to holler at him when i leave my girlfriends alone. fuckin’ cabrón.”

you found the situation funny, laughing to yourself while you sat in miguel’s lap. miguel himself, however, didn’t find it funny in the slightest.

“how about we give him a call, hm?”

“papi,” you gently shoved his shoulder. “ya. give it a rest.”

he didn’t give a rest. an hour later, he was busy fucking you on his cock, his left hand spreading your right thigh wider as his right hand squeezed your throat.

“who’s pussy is this?” he growled, his thrusts growing rougher and harder as your moans grew higher and louder.

“yours,” you’d breathe, your voice getting caught in a web of pure ecstasy and lust. “fuck, baby. yours.”

“only mines?” he whispered in your ear.

“only yours,” you responded, right before you came erotically for the third time that night alone.

afterwards, while you were all bundled up and sleeping in nothing but a white, plush blanket in miguel’s arms, the man started thinking to himself; a dangerous feat that miguel often indulged in.

miguel was undeniably possessive; the veins in his throat popped whenever you brought up encounters you’d have with men who wanted nothing more but to fuck you. he’d often tease around about making you a housewife, the man wanting nothing more but to keep you at home wearing nothing but silk lingerie for his pleasure only.

“cmon, nena,” he would tell you, slapping your ass as he reached for a piece of salami from the pot on the stove. “don’t you wanna stay home and be all hot for me?”

“stay home for who?” you’d always reply, grabbing the salt shaker on the counter to sprinkle the tostones with. “you’re never home, babe.”

“shh,” he’d murmur, his tall, six-foot-nine form pulling your standing body close to his, your ass rubbing against his hardening cock. his hand would run down your stomach, his fingers slipping under your pajama shorts as they pressed down on that one spot that always made you breathe out a gasp.

“i’m home now, aren’t i?”

miguel was serious about making you a housewife. he wanted you home, safe from the eyes of any asquerosos with their wandering eyes and shameless thoughts. you were stubborn, laughing off miguel’s repeated attempts of keeping you home.

he knew he wouldn’t get you that easy, but as you laid in his arms, your cheeks still cherry-blossom red from getting fucked throughout the night, he realized there was one last thing that would get you to comply.

-

“mi amor,” you heard his voice rasp in his signature mellow, deep voice. “eres mía” by romeo santos played quietly on the little, black radio that stood against the kitchen counter’s corner. the boiling stew on the stove rumbled, the sound mimicking the pitter-patter of the raindrops that rapped against the apartment’s windows.

you smiled, turning around slightly to meet the tired eyes of the love of your life. “papito,” you affectionately called. “how was work, baby?”

he groaned, the man throwing his head back as his left arm rubbed the back of his neck.

“i know, baby,” you sighed, empathizing already for your man. “ven acá.”

he silently stalked towards you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he perched his chin on your left shoulder.

“nena,” he purred, his tan-toned, full lips leaving little, feathery kisses along your ear. it made you shiver, an action you hoped would go unnoticed as you silently stirred the pot of stew. miguel noticed, of course, his kisses advancing alongside your neck.

“i’m making your favorite,” you softly spoke, pretending not to notice the effects miguel’s affection is already having on your body. “sancocho, papi.”

“yeah,” miguel absentmindedly answered, his plumose eyelids were shut as his mouth traveled downwards towards your shoulder, his kisses replacing where his chin rested against. “how about i eat your pussy instead?”

“miguel,” you whispered, his right hand rubbing against the blue, satin material of your night dress, his fingers dancing past the edge’s lacy trimming as they met the cotton-fabric of your black panties. “que ‘ta haciendo?”

“shh,” miguel’s voice rang close to your ear, his veiny, wide fingers rubbed your covered pussy. you could feel him smirk at how wet you instantly got, the tip of his canine tooth jabbed slightly into your shoulder as he felt a sudden dampness on his fingertips. “lo quiere, mami? look how wet you’ve gotten already.”

“papi,” you breathed, your voice growing labored and feathery under his touch.

“como así?” he seductively asked, the sensation further intensifying as his pressed on your clit, his fingers massaging you there quicker than he had already been doing. “no quieres que me paro?”

“como así,” you answered, parroting him. “don’t stop, baby.”

the vision of you under miguel sent blood rushing down to his cock. it was the way you gripped onto his veiny arms, his left hand stroking your belly while his right hand teased you there. it was the way your lips parted to make those familiar noises he adored, the little whines and soft moans delicately made just for him. it was the way your legs began to give out, your body’s way of showing him just how weak he made you.

you really couldn’t blame him for the words he uttered, not after seeing you becoming undone from just his light touches.

“baby,” he whispered, his voice low and resonant. “let me cum in you tonight. let me put a baby in you.”

“a baby?” you muttered, your once sealed eyes slowly fluttering open at his words. in your lustful state, however, there was only so much you could register. “quiere acabar en mi?”

“si, mami.” suddenly, miguel spun you around to where your ass met with the marble surface of the kitchen counter and to where your forehead was pressed against his own. slightly crouched, the tall, tan man’s hazelnut-brown eyes stared into your own, his pupils dilated in both love and lust. his left hand, the one that wasn’t playing with your pussy, delicately met with the softness of your face, his adoring nature causing your cheeks to blush a deeper shade of ruby red.

“i’m serious,” miguel asserts, his eyes searching for any signs of doubts in your widened pair. “quiero una familia contigo, mami.”

“no me mientas,” you lightly scoffed, rolling your eyes at him in a mix of playfulness and dubiety.

“mi vida,” he breathed, his rugged, right hand pulled you in closer so that your chest brushed up against his. “no hay otra mujer que quiero pasar todo mi tiempo con. you’re all i want, mi jeva. let me show you how much i want you with me forever.”

“papi,” was all you could muster up in a response. your chest rose as you breathed, a sign of your arousal and your mind realizing what miguel wanted from you. looking into his eyes, you realized that this was the man whom you shared so much history with, the man who’d come home to you frying salami or mashing plátanos to make mangú for him. you realized that this was the man whom you slowed danced with at night, the romantic, melodic charms of aventura playing from the cassette tape player the rhythm that made you both relax into each others arms.

it was then had you realized what miguel truly was to you, and it was then that you realized there was nothing that he could’ve asked of you that you would’ve denied.

“i want a baby,” you finally replied, your eyes taken in how his face softened, his thick eyebrows lowering as his plump lips parted to some degree. “i want your baby, miguel.”

“yeah?” he questioned, his voice airy as if he was in a trance. “dígame otra vez, mi jefa.”

“miguel,” you tried to come off stern, but you could feel yourself smiling. your right hand grasped the back of miguel’s thick neck, your fingers pulling him closer to where the tip of his right ear met with your bottom lip. “cum in me.”

you screamed as you felt his arms lift you effortlessly, your body shaking from laughter as you wrapped your legs around his slim waist. he smushed his lips against yours, muffling your blissful laughter yet failing to subsidize your vibrating body. while your eyes were shut from passionately kissing miguel, you felt movement being taken underneath you before your backside was met with a plush surface. your eyes opened, your mind registering the fact that he’d placed you on the living room’s royal blue couch.

“qué qué?” you smiled up at him, your teeth reminding him of the little stars that shone in the twilight hour of the brooklyn night sky. “too lazy to carry me to the bedroom?”

“cállate, perra,” he hissed, yanking his own shirt off before he threw it somewhere deep in the living room. and by somewhere deep, you really mean like two feet away if we being honest cause god damn these new york city apartments are tiny as fuck.

his lips met with yours abruptly, your laughter and teasing slowly turning into gasps and moans. he let his left hand rest over your throat as he roughly kissed you, a reminder to both you and him that he was the one in control. even with your numerous little jokes and teases directed towards him, it was miguel who made you shut up simply with his dick.

he bit your bottom lip, not enough to draw blood but just enough to catch your attention. your eyes opened slightly to catch him winking at you, his teeth releasing your lip just to tell you that you were his.

“eres mía,” he told you, his lips descending as they met with your neck. “la mujer de mi vida.”

kissing your neck, miguel managed to sneak in a bite which made you shriek.

“diablo, miguel,” you cussed, rolling your eyes as you could feel him smile against your skin. you playfully smacked him against his chest just for that, however his smile only grew.

his lips traveled down towards your chest, his left hand released your throat as his fingers toyed with the lacy edge of your nightgown.

“quítale,” he commanded, his right hand wrapped around your left wrist as he pulled your back off the sofa.

“cuero,” you teased, your arms perpendicular to each other as you lifted the sapphire-blue nightgown over your head. tossing it towards wherever miguel threw his shirt, the only thing you were clad in now was your simple pair of already soaked, black panties.

“coño, mami,” miguel swore, his brown eyes focused on nothing more but how hard your tits were because of the prior pleasure he’d made you feel. “fuck, baby. your tits are so hard.”

“yeah,” you breathed. “i wonder why.”

ignoring you, miguel pressed you back down on the sofa before he immediately bent himself over you. he wasted no time in putting your right tit in his mouth. his left hand’s fingers rubbed the damp center between your legs.

“miguel,” your words turned into moans. your fingers, without your knowledge, found themselves woven into miguel’s chocolate-brown, silky hair.

“te gusta, mi amor?” miguel questioned, his lips pulled off of your tit as his wide eyes peered straight at yours. his right hand replaced the warmth from miguel’s mouth as he squeezed your right boob, his mouth peppering little kisses on your left.

“claro que si,” you replied, your voice hitching and your words liquifying into whines as miguel’s fingers rubbed drawn out circles, torturously slow, on your covered clit. “fuck, miguel,” you whimpered. “papi, por favor.”

“por favor, qué?” you felt his words vibrate against your body. he left your tits alone, opting to trail his mouth further down your warm and trembly body. you felt his wide, lengthy tongue trail down the soft surface of your torso, the tips of his fingers fingering the edges of your panties. “want me to put it in so soon, mi amor?”

“yeah,” you responded, your hands squeezing his shoulders in anticipation. “fuck, miguel, just put in already.”

miguel’s fingers pulled your panties down your thighs, the man muttering a “coño, mire a ti,” from just how wet you were. gloss coated your pussy, your clit protruding and throbbing as if it was enticing miguel to suck it.

“mire como te pongo,” the beautiful dominican man whistled, his fingers carefully unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. not even bothering to take his pants off further down his broad thighs, he pulled his cock out from his cranberry-maroon boxers, the sight causing you to whine in visual ecstasy.

he was just so, big.

seven inches of him barely fit in miguel’s lengthy right hand, with mauve-toned veins visible as it ran throughout his entire cock. his salmon-colored tip dripped with pre-cum, the sight of it causing your pussy to throb.

“que largo,” you commented, your eyes hollowing in pure lust as you watched miguel stroke his own cock. he threw his neck back in pleasure, his eyes closed peacefully as he let a moan escape his lips. you could feel your clit pulse, your thighs unconsciously pressing harshly against each other to soothe the pressing sensation.

“ábrelos,” miguel growled, his hand flying off his dick as he forced your legs open.

“miguel,” you moaned, “no juegues conmigo.”

he shushed you, a soft “tranquí, nena,” murmured from his lips as his left hand pushed your right thigh down, putting you on full display for him. you were fully exposed, your body failing to conceal your arousal from him with your hardened nipples and your soaked pussy for his private viewing.

his right hand held his cock again, the tip of it teasingly rubbed your pussy which earned another playful smack from you.

“ya,” miguel laughed, before he finally put in inside you.

your neck threw itself back instantly, a low-pitched moan getting caught in your throat as your eyes were firmly squeezed shut. you were wet, so wet that it started to drip on your inner thighs. it made it easy for miguel to slip inside, a low, vibrate groan pushed emerged from his chest as he did.

“fuck, baby,” you breathed, your hands finding his shoulders again as you clutched for dear life. “you’re just so fucking big.”

“and you’re so fucking tight,” his words rumbling from above you. “abre tus ojitos, muñeca.”

peering your left eye open, you could’ve died right then from the vision in front of you. although it wasn’t anything new, you could never get used to what it looked like when miguel was inside you; his vast chest inhaling and exhaling from his labored breathing as his brown locs grew messy and stuck unto his face as if his caramel-brown skin was actually made of honey.

“you’re so beautiful,” you found yourself whispering your thoughts out loud. it was then he looked at you, really looked at you. he watched your puppy-dog eyes as they widened, full of love and adoration for him. he watched your apple-red, blushing cheeks grow fat from your contagious smile.

“mi angelita,” he smiled back, the soft expression on his face carefully mimicked the ones on yours. “el amor de mi vida.”

“miguel,” you sung, just now remembering that he was still inside you and recalling just how bad you wanted him to make you cum. “fuck me.”

“yeah, baby,” the romance on miguel’s face quickly dissipated as lust rapidly took over, the smile on his lips turned into a smirk while the softness of his eyes turned into a glare. “cómo así?”

he pulled just an inch of his dick out of you before he roughly thrusted himself back in, and lord, the stars you were seeing.

“papi, cómo así,” you whined. he repeated the action slowly for just three more strokes, before eventually he sped himself up for harder and deeper blows.

it was too much. you could feel how deep he was, your pussy struggling to take all of him inside you. you could feel his cock rubbing against your inner walls, the feeling of getting penetrated and massaged internally produced so many sensations that you didn’t have the mental capacity at the time to describe. your hands, unsure with what to do with themselves as your brain was clogged with pleasure, often switched from gripping onto the plush couch beneath you, to holding onto your numb tits, to grasping miguel’s shoulders and arms. the man himself seemed so calm compared to your disheveled state, his constant fucking of you and his unashamed sounds of lust the only indicators of his ecstasy-filled condition.

“coño, miguel,” you couldn’t help but blurt out, little whimpers slipped out as miguel’s animalistic fucking grew more and more aggressive. his thrusts became quicker, his cock pressing impossibly deeper until it found that one spot that made you fall apart every time miguel found it. “ay dios mío, papi, no pare.”

“mi zorra,” miguel hissed, his hands pulling you closer as they gripped your thighs. “que mojada ‘ta por mí.”

“mhm,” you moaned, your hips slightly thrusting against his dick as he kept fucking that one spot over and over again. “oh fuck, miguel, baby i’m serious don’t fucking stop.”

“what,” he teased, his movements purposely picking up speed. “te vas a acabar?”

“cum in me,” you whined, your hands placing themselves on miguel’s back as you pulled him closer. “don’t pull out baby, cum in me.”

“fuck,” miguel cussed. with how you could feel your pussy tightening against his dick, you knew from past experiences that your man was about to tap out himself.

he wrapped your thighs around his lower back, prompting you to pull him closer as his breathing grew heavier and thunderous.

“let me cum in your pretty pussy,” he panted, a familiar, beloved sensation started to boil up in his lower body. “let me make you my slut forever.”

and then you came undone. you felt yourself reach the highest point of pleasure, your throat coarse from the whines and moans that fled from your trembling lips. your legs shook violently against miguel’s torso, the sounds blood rushing obnoxiously throughout your ears stunned the rest of your senses for a brief moment in time. you were literally seeing stars, your eyes were shut so tight to where little specks of white flames danced behind your eyelids.

while you were living in your high, a new sensation of something warm filling you up regained some form of your senses back.

miguel’s groans brought you back to earth, the enticing mix of cuss words and your name being moaned from his voice was what gathered your attention onto him once more. the way his nose was scrunched and his top lip curled up served as signs that he’d just came with you.

only this time, instead of cumming on your belly or in your mouth like he usually did, you just remembered what you’d begged him to do.

he actually came in you.

-

to miguel, you were everything he ever dreamed of.

in the midst of his hectic work life in nueva york and the constant nights of hustle and bustle, he knew that in the end he had you he’d came home to. it was you who he’d adored, who he’d respected, who he’d genuinely loved. there was no other woman who miguel could ever truly see himself being with forever, and there was no other woman who he could see himself fathering children with.

therefore, one night after he arrived home from work one day and saw you were in the kitchen making arepa as a little treat for a rough day, he nearly cried and screamed at the little gift you presented to him.

a positive pregnancy test.

and although he originally wanted to get you pregnant just so he could keep you away from the perverted men of nueva york (also cause miguel is a dominican man and they’re all grimey as fuck), miguel couldn’t imagine having his first baby with anyone that wasn’t you. he’d often day dreamed of capturing moments of your growing belly as each month progressed. he often day dreamed of singing and talking to your baby late at night, his hand on your belly while your fingers played with his hair.

if miguel wasn’t certain about a lot of things, there was one thing he was undeniably certain about; his unconditional love for you, and the desire to have a family and be devoted to only you for as long as he may live.

[n0resistance]

Bedstuy

    I think my favorite area in Brooklyn will always be Bedstuy. When I first moved back to Brooklyn, I moved to Bushwick. I found a room online, because I only lasted about 2 weeks living with my parents. In this new apartment, I-didn’t have a bed yet, 3 roommates lived with me, and there was no AC, right in the beginning of June. When I moved to Brooklyn from LA, I was lucky enough to have a savings but I was a month late in getting a job. Where all the good hospitality jobs in the summer are all hired by June 1st. 

    It was difficult but I was happy to have my dog back, finally a twin bed from amazon, and an opening to a hotel serving job. I tried a bunch of different serving jobs, they weren’t quite paying the bills, so I had to drop one by one until I found consistency. Also the sublet I had was totally falling apart, and when the roommates asked me to extend, I declined, I was hustling hard for something better, with a lot of rejections. My old friend sent me a text while I was on the subway “are you still looking for a room”. I texted back right away “yes!”. 

    I saw the place, and there was beef between the previous roommates, whom I never met. My room was small, and the closet was very tiny, but I liked the patio area and having the ability to sit outside. I loved the exposed brick, that there were 2 bathrooms, hardwood floors, and central air after dying without AC. I asked where we were located and my friend said “Bushwick”, she told me the price of the room was $750, and I took it. 

    It was 2 weeks later that I found we lived in Bedstuy. My other friend moved down the block, just a street away. I said we lived in Bushwick, and she corrected me that we were in Bedstuy, I kept saying no it’s Bushwick. She goes - Do you wana live in Bushwick?  I didn’t care where it was. I was just told something different. We totally were living in Bedstuy. It was 2019. I first was working at a hotel called Sister City, that came from the Ace Hotel Group. The money wasn’t really good and had to quit, and became an Assistant Front Office Manager at a hotel down the block in Nolita. That kind of job pays okay, but not enough, so I ended up getting a job at the Biergarten at the Standard Hotel as well. Where I finally felt like I was making enough money. 

    The years I spent in Bedstuy got blurry because 2020 had occurred and we all lost our jobs for about 6 months. Thankfully I received unemployment. Spent days hanging with friends, biking to the beach, and taking care of my family. Everyone got sick which was traumatizing, as well as I was going through a breakup, and falling in love all over again. I got close with my roommates and my friend who lived a block away because we weren’t able to talk to anybody else. 

    I had thin walls where even though I wanted to spend time a lone, I felt like I was in conversation with my roommates in the living room. Only a 15 min bike ride away from Williamsburg and  I was a server on the roof of a hotel in Williamsburg. I did a virtual play as well as host my events in Brooklyn. 

   Blogging began again here. I painted my room Blue with a landscape of Buenos Aires, my dream city I’ve never been to. My wall fell down in January of 2021 which was totally scary. Because even though this was a modern apartment, it was decaying on the inside. My dog got sick, the signs was that he completely stopped eating, and then he died of old age while I was living there.

     I grew from the age of 28 to 31 in that apartment. I traveled a lot. Started with little trips like Boston, Upstate, Long Beach Island, then to Dominican Republic, California a few times, Mexico, Belize, Miami, Las Vegas, Nashville, Seattle. The winters were bad in New York, where depression would hit. I also learned a lot about boundaries, and not feeling the need to people please finally, and learning to keep my circle small. When I had money I would treat my nephews with lavish gifts including hotel rooms in New York, a bouncey house, and a piano keyboard.

 I worked in Manhattan and it was a nice medium. I met a boy in Jersey City. We kept separate apartments him in JC and me in Bedstuy, until the rent went up $400 per room a month. So I moved to Jersey City. I had to do my last things to do in Bedstuy; chill in Herbert Von King Park and eat tacos at Warude. Get a drink at Chilos or the rolling creamery near the house. I made a lot and would spend a lot. My rent was a bit more living a lone and I was still in a somewhat a fast life. 

   I dated two guys in that apartment, and went through 4 jobs, different projects. It was sustainable. I learned standards with that apartment and will always have a deep love for Brooklyn and living here.  Bedstuy doesn’t feel pretentious and some interesting things like a bird and Laundry machine store. Cages of birds to sell and laundry machines. It’s not really cheap but not as expensive as Manhattan. There’s amazing arepa truck on Broadway, a 24 hour juice spot, filipino breakfast with Ube lattes, an astrology bar. It gets weird and fun and I’ll always be into a chill vibe now that New York is home. I remember leaving and a tattoo shop just opened next door. It’s a feeling in this part of town and there will always be a big part of me who feels she grew up in Bedstuy. Because I had to start over, had to heal, and had to grow. Thankfully I did it all there.

[gut-fuzz]

Listen/purchase: A Little Bit Lost But Not Too Worried About It by Søl Søp

Todays an exciting day for me. I'm finally releasing Søl Søp Twø; "A Little Bit Lost But Not Too Worried About It." Søl Søp Twø is my second set of studio quality recordings and to me it represents a certain stage in my developement not only as an artist but as a man. I'm 29 now and living out a relatively happy and peaceful existance these days in a sunny loft space in Bedstuy, Brooklyn with my wife and our dog, but it was a long road to get here, and that road was frought with all the typical tumults of youth; Heartbreak, social anxiety, betrayel, drug abuse, you fucking name it. Lots of people deal with that shit, and not everyones lucky enough to get over it at such a young age- but thank God, I am that lucky. Even as a 23 year old, cross-faded and vomiting off the stoop at the apartment building of a friend of a friend at 2am while waiting for a car to come and scoop me up (all I can say about that and so many similar occurances is that 1. I'm glad I grew up in an era where getting delivered home after too many drinks was as easy as slurring "hey Siri, cab!" and 2. It was never any ones fault but my own) I was thinking to myself "well this sucks- but I'm lucky it isnt any worse." But anyway, my point is these songs are kind of in my past, but I like them- I listen back to them and I wonder if there isnt someone who can relate and who might get helped by hearing that someone else was as fucked up as them. The same way I was guided and therapized by the Pixies, Brand New, Bright Eyes, Regina Spektor, and Titus Andronicus (and frankly the list goes on). So thats about the size of it! Søl Søp Twø! Enjoy it, or if its not your thing try and pass it along to someone who might be into it for me, thanks and God bless.

[clapbackqueensandkings]

Yesterday was a loooooooong week but I feel fantastic having accomplished everything I needed to attend to (outside of phone calls and eulogy writing)… As I sit enjoying the remainder of this Portuguese layover, I thought to share the beginning of my latest art project, the cart outside of #DailyPressCoffeeHouse ! Something inside me wouldn’t let me get on the plane till I claimed my space by beginning it. I let my spirit lead me and this is where we are now.. inspired by the tulips my neighbors in #CrownHeights grew in their front gardens when I was a kid. Inspired by #Brooklyn of then and now.: I got to thinking about how in order for a garden to grow to be beautiful and luscious, it must be tended to regularly. I feel like people and out relationships are the same. We only receive what we give to it. So let’s give our best and see what happens! 🥰🥰🥰🥰 When I get back I’ll finish it up with the detailing and quotes of my artist dreams. Till then, I hope you like it… #gobrooklyn #artlife #muralart #movingup #elevate #evolve #evolution #communityart #unity #garden #gratitude #grace #tendtoyourgarden #ifyouloveitdoiteveryday (at Bedstuy Brooklyn) https://www.instagram.com/p/ChXcru_sqcH/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[galsgaystheys]

When I was a kid, back when my mom and I lived in a four-story walk-up in Bedstuy, there was hardly any greenery around. But there was this one cherry tree that practically grew into our windows. No one else in our building ever touched it, clearly terrified of pesticides or the near-infinite number of germs crawling through New York City. My mom, well, she wasn’t like that. // Listen to Overkill Season Two, Episode Four: Phantom Pain now!

[blackgirltalksback]

Loud Mouth: Glynn Pogue

Photos by Alex Revina

"I have a lot of times where I doubt the power of my voice. I'm consistently trying to tell myself that my opinions are valid. I have to remind myself not to be so afraid to go against the tide for fear of shaking shit up. "  

This month’s #LoudMouth is no other than the very-stylish, Glynn Pogue, also known as Bedstuy Brat. I met the Brooklyn-native at an MFA event and she has been helping your girl navigate this writing life ever since. She easily has one of the cutest apartments in NYC, looking like it was pulled straight from an Essence spread, which makes sense since the travel enthusiast grew up roaming the halls of the magazine on every Black mama’s coffee table. I sat down with Glynn to talk high school rebellions, the “chill-girl” trope, and the consistent struggle of finding your voice. 

DM: What is your relationship with the phrase “talking back”? Are you familiar with the term and did you ever get in trouble for it?

GP: It's so layered because I'm super familiar with that phrase. “Don't talk back!” and “Who you think you talking to?!” all that kind of stuff was everywhere, but I think I most experienced that when I was with my aunts or my grandmothers who are a little bit more old school. My parents, however, were these outliers that moved to New York and their way of raising me was a little more non-traditional. I also grew up in a Bed-n-Breakfast where my parents were always really busy so I was on my own a lot, very independent. So I spent a lot of time in my head more than being vocal and visible, especially because there were always other people in the house.

I had to play the background and was mostly observing more than I was asserting my voice. But, as I'm thinking about it, when I was a kid I wanted to be an actress. I put on plays and shows and stuff, so I was ostentatious in a way but I wasn't necessarily challenging authority with my own voice as an adolescent. Of course, when I was in high school I was an asshole and had a rebellious moment. By then my parents didn't know what to do with me because that had never been my style, that’s not how they raised me.

  DM: Have you ever felt like your voice was not welcomed or there wasn’t a space for your voice? How did you deal with that?

High school was a hot mess. I was doing the most. It was partially because of my fear of being, seen and heard that I was rebellious. So I was going to school – I'm from Brooklyn. I went to public school in Brooklyn my whole life and then I went to high school on the Upper West Side and I'm in class with a bunch of white, very privileged students for the first time in my life. And I just automatically felt like they were smarter than me, just more competent. They read more than I had before I got there and in class I was afraid that my opinions were not as good as theirs. So I just retreated from school, I just never went. So a part of my rebellion was that I cut school all the time.

I’m also curious if you've ever felt this way, sometimes even in my romantic relationships, I sometimes feel like I can't ask for what I want because I don't want to be too pushy or whatever.  I don't want to make shit too complicated or whatever when it doesn't need to be complicated.

DM: I definitely feel that. When you're in the relationship as the woman, you're supposed to be easy-going, don't cause too much raucous or that's who you are as a person – you don't appreciate things. You're just the girl with the attitude.

GP: Yeah and there's some allure to being like, “Oh my God, she's so chill! She's down. My girl is so cool.”

DM: Yes! Absolutely! The chill girl is the girl to be. Chill girls don't got no attitude they don’t got no problem, everything is cool.

GP: Fuck that.

DM: Yeah. You’re ass is raggedy, and I’m going to tell you.

GP: Deadass.

DM: But also there's this idea that because you say something – and I think this is something I actively work against as I get older – the relationship is completely threatened. Because you say how you're unhappy or how something has impacted you in a negative way, then you feel like you might lose the relationship.

GP:  I think that might be a thread in all of these times when I've been afraid to speak because I'm afraid to compromise something. I'm not giving people enough credit, or giving the possibility of debate, or conversation enough credit – that I can raise something and then we can just talk it out and see what happens, and it not  automatically be chaos . . . or you lose the person . . . or an opportunity. Something I've been talking about recently with people as I'm starting to freelance more is asking for how much money you want. When someone asks you how much you want to be paid, just tell them what you're worth versus being like “Well, let me see. . . how much do I think that they can offer me? l want to make sure that I don't overstep. I don't want it to be too much for them.”

DM: Absolutely. That goes to my question, who are some of your earliest encounters with other #LoudMouths? Who inspired you to talk back and really advocate for yourself/others?

The kinds of girls I started hanging out with when going through my rebellious phase. I admired them so much because they were fearless in the way that they spoke and talked back to everyone – a professor, the other girls in our class. They didn't give a fuck. And I loved that so I tried to model myself after them.

When I was growing up, my mom was the Editor-in-Chief at Essence. So I'd be going from seeing those girls on the playground and then maybe another given day I'm with my mom at “Take Your Daughter to Work Day,” roaming the halls with these black women who shaped culture, consistently voicing their thoughts and opinions within the pages of a magazine that black women widely read.

And then of course growing up in this Bed-n-Breakfast and I would also see my mom hosting guests and constantly hearing her voice all the time. And when I was in high school she wrote a book, so I used to go to all her speaking engagements. So it's literally my mom talking, talking, talking, and I think I never really appreciated what she was doing growing up. I took it for granted or I just assumed that’s just a thing that my mom does without realizing that that it’s a very big deal, that she has a platform that people listen to her. And people feel empowered to speak to reclaim their space.This is what I want to write about in my work and how I am thinking about reshaping this memoir I'm working on. It's about centering different women and girls in my life that I tried to model myself after and tried to emulate because I liked the way that they were so comfortably themselves, especially in speaking their minds, which is something I was always afraid to do and I'm still kind of afraid to do vocally, which is why I can do it in my writing more than anything.

DM: When did you first learn that your voice held power?

GP: This is an interesting conversation to have because it's constantly a thing that I'm struggling with and working through, the power of my voice. I have a lot of times where I doubt the power of my voice. I'm consistently trying to tell myself that my opinions are valid. I have to remind myself not to be so afraid to go against the tide for fear of shaking shit up.

So I realized my voice had power when I started taking myself seriously as a writer, so probably within the last three years. I remember the first time I wrote a piece to have it workshopped.  I was so afraid of how it was going to be read, I was worried if people would think it was good enough. But then it resonated with the class and I was like, oh shit. People are interested in what I have to say. I have a point of view!  That was really empowering.

It came to a point that once I was at the end of my MFA program, I confidently turned in things for people to read without fear because I already believed that what I had to say was popping or the prose was good. And I think that's what it really comes down to in a lot of cases. It's a confidence thing and I'm trying to work on mastering it every fucking day.

DM: Nice! My last question is who are your favorite contemporary #LoudMouths right now? 

GP: Rachel Kaadzi Ghansah. She's amazing. Her pieces flow and wind and you're just in this story, in this flow and you're with her as she’s uncovering and the pieces are constantly opening up and broadening and broadening and broadening. So she's fucking goals. She's such an amazing writer.

Glory Edim and Dianca Potts who work on Well-Read Black Girl. When we saw them on that panel, they were great. I loved Dianca’s energy and humor and she's one of those people that say how they feel. And she definitely is using social media as that space and within her articles. She’s also working on a book that's coming out and I'm really excited for that. And you know, Glory, just did an anthology of Black women writers and it’s amazing! Yeah, I, I love that she champions black women writers and champions community.

You can find Glynn’s latest piece in the most recent print of HANNAH magazine and her words can be found all over the web on places like Essence, National Geographic Traveler, Travel Noire, Jezebel and Guernica, among others. Learn more about Glynn on her website, GlynnPogue.com.

[loveomhh]

Whattttt??? This is one of the first things I saw when I googled Bedford-Stuyvesant. This is so disappointing and alarming. ______ I grew up in Bedford- Stuyvesant better known to most as Bed-Stuy and even better know to us as Bed-Stuy do or die (this term was more a colloquialism than anything else). I grew up understanding this term/ phrase as our commitment to our community- you mess with one, you mess with us all but I digress. _______ I had such an amazing childhood here. One of playing outside, neighbors looking out for one another and comfort of living amongst your own safely which can only be experienced in a neighborhood like the former Bed-Stuy. We were not a perfect neighborhood nor were we free from crime but neither is ANY neighborhood. ______ If I tell you what people use to say that didn’t live in the community you would be so disappointed. Disappointed because these were people that knew nothing about our community or the people that lived in it. This was and is a very common mode of thinking as it pertains to black and brown communities. The outcome of my google search will not sit well with me. This is me venting (a contributor to our Instagram page). This is not the views or voice of the Brownstoners. ________ Believe it or not, this google search started by me wanted to present information the name Bedford-Stuyvesant. This is what I found. Founding The neighborhood's name combines the names of the Village of Bedford and the Stuyvesant Heights neighborhoods. Stuyvesant is derived from Peter Stuyvesant, the last governor of the colony of New Netherland. ______ Please check back for more information about Bedford-Stuyvesant #bedfordstuyvesant #bedstuy #brooklyn #community #stuyvesantheights (at Bedford–Stuyvesant, Brooklyn) https://www.instagram.com/p/B8zDHbplZRR/?igshid=nfqt5805qggg

[theblackoutofficial]

@raypoetry submitted:

hi everyone! 

I’ve been writing for a few years now, and I finally worked up the courage to start sharing my work with a larger audience. I’ll be posting poems and photography, and reblogging any other art that touches me.

In honor of blackout, I’d like to submit a poem I read for a BSU Black History event I was a part of this year. Thank you so much for reading, happy blackout y'all! 

  To Be Black 

You ask me what it is like to be Black. And I can tell. You want to hear about people who follow me up and down the aisles of their convenience stores. You want “STOP. DONT SHOOT.” You want me to conjure up Trayvon Martin, Mike Brown, Sandra Bland. Do you understand that I am more, that we are more than that?

We are smooth jazz played by big bands, and Harlem nights and the ambience of the Apollo and the way Ella and Billy sang.

We are houses that are too small to be anything but homes

Ceramic angels- meticulously dusted and placed in their exact positions on the mantle,

Make sure your shoes are off before you enter.

You ask me what it is like to be Black,

Only interested in the trials and tribulations my ancestors faced on the slave ship.

I can tell you where I’m from.

My mother used to pick mangoes right off the tree, born and raised in Trinidad she came to America with the beat of calypso in her footsteps, and chennet pits rolling around in her stomach. Sometimes, I can hear the steel pan echoing in her laughter. 

My father used to stand on the cold corners of Bedstuy brooklyn and sing for money, he was rarely late for curfew. He used to have a big Afro, and he wore bell bottom jeans and platform shoes better than anyone else on the block. His honey colored eyes get dreamy when he tells me about djing, and watching the sun rise over the Brooklyn bridge.

You ask me what is it like to be Black

And I can see that you want a story about gang violence and absentee fathers but I tell you about the way my dad used to dance with me standing on his feet. He would sway and sing with me until I could no longer fight the sleep. He’d carry me upstairs and put me into bed, praying with me before leaving the room and turning on the hallway light.

Let me tell you about paper thin walls. How I grew up listening to Aventura with my neighbors from Puerto Rico,

When people of color started moving into the neighborhood the white people started moving out and now

We have block parties and bachata, sometimes when I walk down the block I can smell allspice and turmeric in curried chicken and the ghee that makes fresh roti the best shade of brown. 

You ask me what it is like to be Black

Instead of sagging jeans, or gang colors, I tell you about Sunday best. Grandmothers and aunts in big colorful hats that almost confine them to sitting two to a pew. And chubby babies in frilly socks and fluffy dresses. the way we sing harmonies that bring the sun to stained glass windows, and the essence of God himself to the first row.

I’m not sure if he comes back for evening service.

But we always do.

You ask me what it is like to be Black

And I remind you to capitalize the B before I tell you that it stands for blessings and beauty and bread made from scratch and bodies moving to the beat, light on their feet, and the burden that gets just a little lighter at a BBQ, when the old folks turn on the temptations, or the five heartbeats. When they’ve have had a little too much to drink and they wanna tell you about the good old days.

You ask me what it is like to be Black.

And I tell you that I have a poem that took me 20 years to write.

It is not sad.

And it is not what you expected.

[deozi]

GIRLS SAY HE'S SWEET LICORISH - We have so much in common. He was my age group. He is of Jamaican heritage. He grew up in Bedstuy as I did. And, he had a love for hiphop that started in his younger years. The Notorious BIG was always someone that I wanted to gain ultimate success, simply because Brooklyn always had a rich bed of artists coming out of it historically. Like Aaliyah, he left the world too soon. This piece of art is dedicated to my JA kindred. #piece #instaartist #jamaica #caribbean #deozi #draw #drawing #deoziart #sketchbook #sketch #bedstuy #brooklyn #blackartist #blackart #culture #music #notes #biggie #fantasyart #graphicart #graphicdesign #imagery #pencil #charcoal #shading #portrait #creative #instaart

[madpicks]

New Post has been published on https://www.madpicks.com/sports/nba/nets-honored-biggie-smalls-unparalleled-legacy-brooklyn/

The Nets honored Biggie Smalls' unparalleled legacy in Brooklyn

BROOKLYN, N.Y. — Take a ride through the streets of New York’s greatest borough and you’ll stumble upon some of the world’s best street art and brick wall murals. At least one of them will be dedicated to the late, great Biggie Smalls.

Biggie is revered as the greatest rapper to ever grace a microphone. His lyrics take you on his journey from moving drugs through the streets of Brooklyn at age 12 to his rise atop the rap game’s food chain, teasing the spoils of his success as each side story in-between.

It was a tale that resonated with everyone growing up in Brooklyn during his era.

“He was a culture,” said Knicks forward Lance Thomas, who grew up in Brooklyn before playing high school basketball in New Jersey. “Growing up in New York, obviously I’m a fan, and I got a chance pay my respects to him and his family for all the things that happened to him. So that was special.”

You probably know Biggie for hits like “Juicy,” “Big Poppa,” and “Going Back to Cali.” You might have heard “10 Crack Commandments” and “I Got a Story to Tell.” If you’re from the West Coast, you probably know him as the subject of Tupac’s “Hit Em Up.”

Having been born in Fort Greene and living in BedStuy most of my life, I’ve heard them all.

But I was just 4 years old when Biggie was killed in a drive-by shooting in Los Angeles in 1997, a moment that ripped the soul out of a community built around his remarkable success story. When he made it, everyone made it. When he got shot, the four bullets ricocheted off every brownstone building into each corner store, basketball court, sidewalk, and stoop in Brooklyn, piercing the populace’s collective hearts along the way.

I was barely old enough to understand the concept of death, let alone the gravity of what his death meant to my city. While my older brother tried his hardest to force me into listening to Biggie’s albums, I wanted to play video games and run around with my friends.

I always knew why Biggie was the greatest rapper of all time. I was just too young to fully appreciate what he meant to me.

That changed when the Brooklyn Nets honored him Sunday on the 20th anniversary of his death.

Nicole Sweet-USA TODAY Sports Wayne Barrow, Voletta Wallace, and Sean “Diddy” Combs sit courtside at the Nets’ “Biggie Night.”

You could tell this night would be different during pregame warmups.

Old-school hip-hop beats reverberated throughout the arena. Biggie’s trademark Timberland boots and COOGI sweaters flooded the Barclays Center sidelines. The distinct aroma of Hennessy wafted about the crowd — V.S. or Privilege? My nose needs refining.

It was what you’d expect a ‘90s party to look and feel like.

Surprisingly, Voletta Wallace had no part in planning the 20th anniversary of her son’s passing. In the two decades that followed Biggie’s tragic shooting, Wallace hadn’t seen one of his murals until last November, nor had she ever been to an NBA game until Sunday night. She merely showed up with her family at the Nets’ request.

“This is very, very surreal. Very surreal,” Wallace told SB Nation. “Had he been alive, he would have been elated.”

It’s safe to say the Barclays Center did her son right:

The Nets just permanently hung a No. 72 jersey from the rafters dedicated to Biggie Smalls. pic.twitter.com/rPyqam8J2E

— Kristian Winfield (@Krisplashed) March 12, 2017

The team raised a No. 72 jersey to the rafters in honor of Biggie’s birth year. It hangs next to Jay-Z’s, another Brooklyn hip-hop legend who sold out eight concerts at the arena’s inception in 2012. It’s no coincidence the two now hover side by side.

The courtside row was packed with hip-hop celebrities, including Diddy, Ice Cube, and Lil’ Kim. Faith Evans, the mother of Biggie’s two children, was in attendance. Brooklyn boxer Danny Jacobs also sat courtside, taking a moment to pay homage before his upcoming middleweight championship fight against the undefeated Gennady “GGG” Golovkin.

Every in-game break featured a different Biggie classic, the Brooklynettes dance team moving accordingly.

Diddy moved the crowd with his halftime speech, calling for 10 seconds of “Brooklyn noise” rather than a moment of silence:

Diddy just demanded 10 seconds of Brooklyn noise instead of a moment of silence for the 20th anniversary of Biggie’s death. pic.twitter.com/dwhRfSEnsC

— Kristian Winfield (@Krisplashed) March 13, 2017

It was a celebration of the 24 years Biggie graced the earth, not a mourning of a soul taken far too soon.

Given the occasion and requisite entertainment, it was easy to forget a basketball game was underway.

Brook Lopez reminded everyone in the first quarter by joining Buck Williams as the only Nets players to score 10,000 points in franchise history. Carmelo Anthony also joined the club shortly. After two buckets in the first quarter, Anthony notched his 10,000th point in a Knicks jersey. He’d finish with 27 points, including 12 in the fourth quarter.

But his output wasn’t nearly enough, given the following circumstance:

Puffy staring at Carmelo and nodding in approval after every shot is my favorite part of this game.

— Stefan Bondy (@SBondyNYDN) March 13, 2017

As it turns out, Biggie was a huge New Jersey Nets fan, his mother told SB Nation. He would have been no older than 5 when Julius Erving led the Nets to their second ABA championship in 1976.

And he was probably smiling down on the Nets Sunday during their impressive performance against a demoralized Knicks team. Brooklyn had lost 16 straight home games until beating the Knicks, 120-112. The Nets singed New York from deep, nailing 19 of their 38 three-point shots.

“Biggie Smalls was definitely in full effect in Brooklyn tonight,” Anthony said when asked about his team’s poor defensive effort. “The spirit was here tonight.”

Photo by Scott Gries/Getty Images A wax figure of Christopher ‘Biggie Smalls’ Wallace on display at its debut at Madame Tussauds in Times Square.

It was just a few months ago I decided to pick up a Biggie album and listen all the way through — something my brother had wanted me to do for years. I consider my music palate much more refined now than a decade ago. Polluting my ears with trap music in college likely delayed that process.

My album of choice: Life After Death, the posthumous project released two weeks after his passing.

It was the album in which Biggie, in all his glorious braggadocio, expertly detailed how he weaseled his way out of getting caught sleeping with the wife of an unknown Knicks player, in a track rightfully named “I Got a Story to Tell.”

It was the album in which he dropped “Somebody’s Got to Die,” one of the greatest works of storytelling in the history of hip-hop music. And it was the project that featured “I’m Going Back to Cali,” a song he recorded ahead of the fatal trip he took to record the music video for “Hypnotize.”

Biggie is known as the most untouchable storyteller of all time, but that’s not what his mother wants you to know. She doesn’t want you to know he dealt drugs as a teenager.

For Wallace, her son was much more than what he did for a living.

“All I can say is here is this young man who brought so much love to a community, to a people. That is just enormous,” she told SB Nation. “I’m a mother. Christopher was my son. And to see all the love, I’m just deeply touched. Very, very touched by it.”

As I leave Barclays Center, I re-listen to Life After Death. There’s a Biggie mural just a block off the route to my bus. I’ll take the detour.

When I get home, I’ll talk with my brother about all the Biggie I ingested on the way there. Then in the morning, I call my mother, just to let her know how much I love her.

See, Biggie wasn’t just a rapper. He wasn’t just a drug dealer turned hip-hop mogul. He was, as Lance Thomas said, “a culture.” A culture I hadn’t appreciated enough growing up. Now, thanks to the Nets, he’s immortal, with his jersey cascading from the rafters in Brooklyn.

He was immortal, though, long before the Nets decided to honor him 20 years after his passing.

I didn’t know. Now I know.

[bezella]

Basically where I grew up, hmmm what's the best way of putting it. Like Linden and Flatbush. Near that like two 2 and 5 train stops. And a mean looking girl with bulky headphones, trying to imagine it. Sorry to hear it makes styling your hair annoying though B( I bet your hair looks good with it either way and that sweet noise cancellation.

Oooh not bad not bad, I’ve got a general idea of that area. It’s hilarious how I used to know most of Brooklyn but since I moved to Queens I don’t remember like....any of it besides patches of Bedstuy and Bushwick

I’m like always scowling on public transportation, usually it’s a mixture of a) the sun shining in my face and b) I fuckin hate the MTA and if a bus is more than 5 mins late I’ll be mad for the whole time I’m on the bus TBH...

[devilbrew-69]

Finding beauty in air gear

( copy and paste from my anime amino post)

Air gear is a series that reached the height of popularity during the mid-2000’s but is now barely talked about, events exclusive to the manga being even rarer. It's a shame since air gear is a diamond in the rough manga that truly resonated with my soul in a way no other form of media has. This essay will analyze what exactly makes air gear such a unique experience.

             Impeccable Art

The easiest subject to cover is definitely the art Even with the earlier chapters’ humble beginnings, creator ogure ito has shown a keen eye for detail and visual metaphors. Every page is filled to the brim with eye-catching battles, unique character designs, and overall captivating landscapes. The author is fond of using stylistic visual metaphors for readers to get the full sense of gravity in a situation. Reading the manga start from the finish is a crazy journey of how an innovative artist has vastly improved his already mesmerizing style. It’s a unanimous opinion that regardless of how someone feels about air gear they will agree the art is one of a kind. I recommend reading the following Crunchyroll article on the brilliant visuals.

https://www.crunchyroll.com/anime-feature/2015/09/15/feature-monthly-mangaka-spotlight-3-oh-great

The Music

  Having to considerably cut down on detail for an animation friendly product, the anime doesn’t properly represent ogure ito’s talented art but it does deliver a stellar soundtrack. It’s no coincidence the ost was done by skankfunk, the alias Of hideki naganuma of jet set radio fame. The series is heavily inspired by jet set radio and the experimental upbeat music definitely supports that. Practically every track is an unforgettable tune that plays around with genres. The music has a perfect synergy with the scenes they appear in. Upon further research, I found out hat hideki naganuma actually only composer a few songs and the majority of the soundtrack was by music group wall5 project under the skankfunk name. Regardless, the music perfectly captures the chaotic and urban feel of air gear. Stand out tracks are tricky sister girl, love sensation, overlooked, skygrinder and the opening song Chain by the band Back-On.

         The Setting

Air gear stands in stark constraint to other modern sports manga simply due to its tone. Most sports manga these days are filled with Bishonen ensemble with loads of queerbaiting. Air gear, on the other hand, can be considered a streetpunk or urban fiction manga. This is a type of genre that focuses on the nitty-gritty of inner city life. The majority of the characters are gang members who have no problem with brutal violence and few characters are stated to live in poverty. Coming from someone from grew up on the hard streets of Bedstuy Brooklyn, the urban feel resonated with me quite nicely. There’s absolutely no fluff in this sports show. The premise itself is pretty daring for being a mainstream manga about rollerblading, a sport that has all but died out. Ogure ito gave the now niche fad and sci-fi spin and several engineers today are trying the replicate the air treks seen on the show.

         The Battles

  This topic is probably one of the more controversial parts of the manga. A big reason why so many people, unfortunately, dropped the manga was due to how over the top everything became, especially the fights. I welcomed this change with open arms. It set the series farther apart from other manga and shonen manga as a whole. It’s not like it came out of nowhere. It was heavily foreshadowed and its disappointing people so easily dropped it just when it was on the road to excellence. Air treks go from being simply high tech roller blades to literal weapons of war. Characters can shoot off energy beams, control the elements and stop time ( except not really). The bombastic battles made air gear feel like the gurren lagann version of sports manga. Every action scene was so exhilarating and out most of other series to shame. It gets to the point the final battle involves Ikki and the final villain negating gravity on a global scale. The breathtaking combat is something you definitely can’t find in any other form of entertainment.

The Characters

   The characters in air gear are very much human in the best and worst ways. You have characters like Kazu, Ringo or Yayoi who are ridden with an inferiority complex and self-doubt. Then there’s character like Ikki who’s self-confident and bold attitude inspire a countless amount of people. I consider ikki to be a role model despite being a delinquent and he certainly did touch my heart. The villains also show of the worst aspect of humans with their oppressive ways and social Darwinism that runs rampant in many common people today, unfortunately. Many people criticize ogure ito’s writing but the way he wrote his characters is so genuine that they don’t have any duplicates. When I read other manga I don’t think to myself, “ these people would be perfect in air gear.” I don’t believe anyone else could write air gear the way ogure ito can and that’s what makes it amazing. Despite some flaws, he is very great at characterization and readers get a good feel of these people. Several characters feel like they could be real people. I found myself identifying with several of characters and seeing myself making the same decisions they did. The complex relationships made the manga feel like a well-done teen drama and that’s what’s amazing.

        The Story

  This aspect is also controversial but it impacted me just as much as the art did. Air gear is the most uplifting manga I ever read. Many people call it pretentious but the series has a really poetic feel that resonates with my soul. It’s a true underdog story in the sense that Ikki started as a delinquent who grew up in poverty and turned into one of the best riders in the series and inspired practically everyone he met. I think marginalized people such as myself and connect to a story of underprivileged characters struggling against the oppressive elite. This even becomes a plot point during the final battle. Constant mention of wings and chains/cages and they hold so much symbolic weight. Wings represent the freedom air treks have given so many people and how Ikki flies steadfast on his own road to victory. Chains/cages represent oppression whether it be from society as a whole or just life in general. Seeing the characters break their chains and fly off is simply amazing. The story tools me through an emotional roller coaster I’ll never forget.

       Afterthought

I think air gear provides a lot to enjoy and it takes a specials type of person to read it till the end. It delivers the same messages of friendship and hard work many other shonen mangas do but in a more meaningful and poetic way. If you haven’t read the manga already, I highly encourage you to marathon it. Hopefully, it can strike your soul the same way it did mine. It’s one of those one of a kind stories that most definitely deserve to be loved

[trendingnewsb]

I’ve Photographed More Than 180 Girls And Their Cats To Prove That Cat Ladies Are Awesome

I started Girls and Their Cats on Instagram two years ago as a way to showcase cat ladies in a positive light. These are some of the most heartwarming stories from the series.

Show Full Text

You can also see my previous post here.

More info: Instagram | girlsandtheircats.com

Anna Agneta & Captain

“My husband Brian and I used to live in this old loft building in Toronto called The Coffin Factory, that’s what it was before people started living there. It was right next to this abattoir and around it there lived a colony of feral cats. They probably thrived from the waste of the pigs slaughtered there. They all looked tough as hell. Our dog wouldn’t even go near them. One day my friend Agi and her boyfriend at the time had a new cat mom and her kittens arrive on their doorstep. A friend of theirs had found her and dropped her off. She was no doubt from the colony, a beautiful pale grey calico with exotic light green eyes and orange ringlets on her tail. They named her Nala. When the kittens were ready to find new homes, we thought we’d go take a look. I remember going down through the maze-like hallways of The Coffin Factory to her unit. There were 6 kittens and they were all nuts, one climbing on something, a couple napping on the couch, another chasing a toy across the floor, they were everywhere. I wasn’t sure if we should get a cat since we travel and move around a lot, but Brian said “Of course we’ll take one of the kittens, we’ll make it work!” Ok, we’re getting a kitten. I’m not sure which came first, his boss-like swagger or his name, Captain. Probably his name but he grew into it so well I can’t imagine him as anything else. He’s always liked to ride around on our shoulders, I think it comes from his nature of liking to be up high and perhaps escape our overly affectionate dog when he was too small to ward her off. He’s a cat and can’t help but do cat-like things, like wake us up when be wants food, showing a certain remorselessness when he chews on expensive computer cords, but behind those things there’s something of higher being capable of great love and affection. Anyone who spends enough time with him falls completely in love. He tends to really affect people and share special moments with them. I feel very lucky that I get to be his cat mama.” Anna Agneta is a model and musician. She plays guitar in a Canadian indie rock band called Dusted.

Christene Barberich & Phoebe

“Two years ago, on New Year’s day, I was finishing up my usual annual ritual—bringing my journal with me from the previous year to a special place and taking stock of all the highlights and accomplishments of the year past. This time around, I chose the Mondrian hotel. And as I sat there detailing the events of the year, I began to feel very low, reflecting on another year gone by that I hadn’t had a child. Not that I hadn’t tried—I had and failed a few more miserable times. Amid all the wonderful things blossoming in my life, that one enduring defeat never seemed to stop lingering, casting a shadow over every small happiness. But, always, on this day for the past four years that we’d been trying, it hurt the most. On the way home from my ritual, I passed an animal hospital in my neighborhood. I saw a fluffy, white cat named Chalky in the window up for adoption, and went inside. I asked to meet Chalky, without even checking in with my husband about the prospect of fostering him. The attendant seemed delighted by my interest, but kept suggesting I meet another cat instead. Her name was Cora and she was deemed “special needs” because she’d lost her leg in a car accident the year prior. For some reason, I felt determined it was Chalky who should come home with us that day, but it was my husband who insisted we meet Cora since she’d been bounced around in foster care for months. About a half-hour later, my husband met me there. I was in kind of a daze, and didn’t even know what I was doing, but felt strangely guided to do it anyway. They took us into a small visitor’s room where they do potential pet-parent meet-and-greets. A few moments later, the door cracked open, and in popped this tiny, tiger-striped head—her bigs eyes were so wide and curious. She was so small but so elegant. She hopped in and I watched her look up at both of us, pensively, and then curl around Kevin’s ankle. He scooped her up with one hand and just looked at me, like, “Let’s get out of here.” And that was it. We brought her home. She hid out in her furry little cat house that she’d lived in at the shelter, until she gradually got used to roaming the apartment and finding new spots to claim as her own. It’s obvious she’s deeply devoted to Kevin, likes to hide around corners and pounce on his feet and ankles. But with me, she’s more soulful and sturdy. She sleeps between my legs and then, at some point during the night, she sneaks up alongside my chest and purrs until we both fall asleep again. I still don’t have a baby of my own. But Phoebe reminded me of how good it feels to love something, to really care for it and need that simple love in return. To feel like destiny had intervened and she had found her rightful home, too. Phoebe taught me it wasn’t all my fault that I couldn’t have a baby, and helped me find the courage to write about what all that loss was like in an essay on the website I co-founded,@Refinery29. The constant love and presence of a soul like Phoebe, reminded me that life does go on. That through heartbreak and failure and so much regret, comes other kinds of love and nurturing that you’re not always expecting, but that feeds you just the same. Very simply, Phoebe opened my heart again. And, she made me believe in myself, too, maybe in a way I never had before. “ Christene is the co-founder of Refinery29.

Simone Thompson & Nigel

“It was the brutal winter of 2015 & as I sat in my poorly heated Flatbush apartment my girlfriend presented me with a tiny, scrappy little black kitten by the name of Nigel. Nigel was big enough to fit in the palm of my hand and street smart enough to be unmistakably feral. He possessed a spastic quality and had been a rescue from East NY. Having previously sustained a head injury, he has a permanent head tilt which gives him the appearance of a cat that’s constantly questioning authority. He loved to scratch, bite and took joy in breaking everything within site. The adjustment period was admittedly tough. As a self pro-claimed cat lady I had a hard time warming up to him. He rarely was calm & antagonized me whenever he could. My girlfriend & I even began to fight because she accused me of not “loving our child.” After a few months though it all changed. We moved to Bedstuy & the change in scenery brought a new, less manic Nigel. His catastrophic kitten stage was finally over. He still bites but gives me cuddles.. sometimes. Most days he watches TV with me & I spend a lot of time asking him important life questions that go unanswered. He’s proved himself to be our difficult but loving child that my partner & I adore.”

Athena Wisotsky & Frikki

“I’ve wanted a cat of my own for so long, but I’ve moved a lot the last three years and there was always something in the way. I never felt settled enough, or the apartment was too small, or my housemates weren’t on board. I have three bodega cats I visit as often as I can, but it’s not the same as coming home to a little creature of my own. When my mother Donna passed away suddenly last month, I had the responsibility to re-home her cats in the middle of everything else that was going on. She had five! Two ladies that we got when I was in high school, and three siblings from one of them. They were her joy and companions, and it was so important to me to find safe and stable homes for them. She would always send me photos of them curled in her lap, or hamming it up, and tell me whatever antics they were getting up to. We joked that she would have to mail one to NYC. When she passed away, it felt like the right thing to do to adopt one of them. We didn’t choose Frikki at first. Her brother is a lot more social, happy and almost comically beautiful. But I realized that with her skittish temperament, she’d need a lot of patience and love. And my decidedly not-a-cat-person boyfriend Max even took to her right away (it was her giant cartoon eyes), so little Frik flew with us from Oregon to New York. It’s been less than a month but she’s warming up a lot, and so is the household. Max initially didn’t want her on the bed, but he caved within 3 days when he realized the power of a cat snug. I’ll often catch them cuddling in bed, and he will text me “How are my girls?” if I am working at home — sometimes with her in my lap. They have bonded already and it warms my heart. This isn’t the way I ever imagined getting my first cat, but having her around has been a major comfort in my grief. Sometimes I just sit and pet her and imagine my mom doing the same thing just a month ago. She’s a living piece of my mother’s life, I’m so happy to have her in my home.” Athena Wisotsky is a writer, editor and artist living in Brooklyn.

Jess Peterson & Oscar

“I got Oscar as a kitten from a craigslist ad. Not knowing at the time that there was a reason they put him on craigslist. He was a giant. He is now full grown at a lean 30lbs. (every doctor who has seen him claims he is the largest cat they have ever seen) Well, as most people would know, Giants tend to have bone issues. So, when Oscar was about 3 or 4 he started limping. his bones were all out of wack and eventually we discovered he had a luxating patella, which is common in dog breeds. Debating for a long time about surgery and success rates I was eventually talked into it by my cousin who is an orthopedic vet surgeon. She said it was a routine procedure and she’s done hundreds of them, and with his specific grade of luxation it was supposed to be no problem. One and done. It wasn’t. He ended up having 4 surgeries last year. It’s a lot to get into with each specific surgery that happened. It brings me to tears just thinking about it. It was the most difficult thing I have gone through in caring for another animal/being thus far in my life. It would have been impossible without the help of family and friends (most definitely my cousin and her hospital staff at Cornell Vet Specialist in Stamford). He became their favorite patient. With all the complications he actually ended up living at the hospital getting constant care for one month on two separate occasions. He even had acupuncture 3 times a week. I’ve never even had acupuncture. It was almost impossible to see the light at the end of the tunnel at many points. On the day he had a successful x-ray – after the 4th surgery – it was the best feeling. I made him a hat for that day, a kitten cake, tons of cat nip and had some champagne. He just celebrated his 7th birthday. He has touched many lives. Mostly mine.” Jess is jewelry designer and painter living in greenpoint.

Ashley Meyers & Oliver

“One evening about a year ago I was walking with some friends in Brooklyn heading to some get-together, when this little peanut ran up to us out of nowhere meowing purrrfusly while staring into my soul. I was apparently born with the gift of an aura that attracts kitty cats where ever I go. This little guy seemed ravenous with hunger. (Which I know now is just his personality) with no nearby homes in site and doors to knock on to see if he belonged to anyone, I decided it was best to just care for him until we figured something out. He was social and friendly but seemed to be on the streets for a while, as he was dirty and had a little ear wound. I asked the others if they would mind if he came along and they were more than happy to include him. We stopped at an open market on the way and fed him a couple cans. We proceeded to head to our destination with a new guest in our arms as if he had been our friend all along. I had just taken in my little furball Isabella. (Not pictured because she is afraid of anyone but me and missed her opportunity to have amazing photos in her new little hat that her mommy made her). Also, I wasn’t allowed to have any pets in this apartment and my roommate at the time wouldn’t have been happy with another cat. So, my compassionate friend who bonded with him that very evening, took him in for about a week while we figured it out. My friend kept him until he had to leave for tour with his band the Mystery Lights, so his gf, took him in until she wasn’t able to keep him anymore either, despite falling in love with him as everyone did along the way. So, I took him and the rest was history. After falling in love with my last roommates cat in my previous apt I was scared to get attached to another kitty cat again, but in reality, it wasn’t much of a life without a furbaby around. Oliver keeps me laughing all day every day. He is the biggest ham you will ever meet. I call him a little space cat. He has these enormous intense eyes that never seem to blink and he’s either sitting around on the couch like a human on his butt with his legs out or against a wall on his back with all fours up in the air. He also LOVES wearing clothes. Hats not so much. Everyone that meets him becomes a fan. Oliver and his older yet tinier sister love to chase each other like hyenas in the jungle and kiss and bathe each other like little heavenly angels. Watching them be mushy together is the most heartwarming, peaceful and precious thing to witness. They also couldn’t be any more different from each other. Both in size and personality. They are total opposites, which make quite the comical team. Isabella is the cuddliest sweetest little peanut but too afraid to be held which would drive me crazy, but Oliver makes up for that part. I love picking up his big chubby body and carrying him around like a baby. They make me so happy. A home without a mushball is no sweet home at all.” Ashley Meyers is a NJ native currently living in Brooklyn and working as a freelance makeup artist.

Chelsea Trout & Mushu

“I began fostering with the NYCACC in the beginning of 2014. It was my junior year in college, and I felt simultaneously compelled to begin volunteering again and severe separation anxiety from having a pet. It was a fairly quick progression into fostering kittens for me. I started fostering 1-2 kittens every few months, and quickly escalated to 2-3 on rotation — as soon as one set would leave, I’d ask to foster another. Fast-forward two years and about 30 kittens later, I found myself living with my boyfriend in our first apartment. It took a little persuading to get him fully onboard with my obsession. Almost a year into our lease, I accepted a request to foster two “singletons,” (the name they used for any young kittens that were without a litter). One, Reed, was an adorable little fluffball only about 5 weeks old. The other, Alipha, was a bit older, at maybe 9 weeks, and reportedly needed a little more socialization to get over her shyness. I looked at Alipha as my personal challenge, because I took pride in taking foster kittens in and sending them back to the shelter as extremely people-friendly and of healthy weight. In the first couple weeks of our time with Reed and Alipha, we saw little improvement in Alipha’s temperament (this would become a trend in our time with her). Reed, however, was just as bubbly and inquisitive as could be. I also began to notice that he really enjoyed being in my presence. If I was cooking or doing the dishes in the kitchen, I would find him directly next to me sprawled out and leisurely flipping his tail around. When I’d use the bathroom, he’d mosey on in and plop himself right on the floor in front of me — waiting patiently. There was something special about our connection that stood out from all of my past fosters. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but it was there. I eventually found myself giving the shelter excuses as to why it was too soon to send them back to the shelter to be taken to adoption events. “I don’t think Alipha has had enough time to fully get past her shyness,” I’d tell the foster coordinators. Meanwhile, Alipha turned out to be a cat that would not soon grow out of her habits. But I simply couldn’t part with Reed — who we had begun calling Mushu. I don’t remember the exact moment it was decided, but I woke up one day knowing I wasn’t sending Mushu to any adoption events. It was July 31, 2016 when the adoption was finalized. Mushu is still the greatest companion and friend I have ever known. As I type this, he’s sleeping on his little scratch pad directly in front of me, because even though he’s not the biggest cuddler he always wants to be within eyesight. He’s extremely verbal and even talks back when you ask him questions! He’s water-obsessed and will sit perched on the kitchen sink waiting for water to come out of the faucet. He welcomes people at the door, and has such a distinct personality that friends have often said he’s “not like other cats” they’ve met. He’s unbelievably inquisitive, and doesn’t shy away from getting in your face for a sniff. Though it’s been only a year with Mushu, it feels like I’ve known him a lifetime.” Chelsea Trout is a New Yorker born and raised, and has been living in Brooklyn for the last four years. She founded a women’s discussion group called Nasty Women’s Retreat that motivates and inspires her endlessly.

Maggie Freleng, Bandit & Daisy

“I went to the shelter looking for a kitten. I’ve never had a kitten because I always take in older rescues so it was time to treat myself. But when I went to the shelter I found Bandit, a 6-month-old blind cat, the shelter worker said had been there for months. No one wanted him. It broke my heart and even though I was looking for a kitten I took him. I couldn’t imagine life without him. He melts my heart every day sometimes I cry I’m so happy we found each other and people passed him up because he’s blind. He is the most special boy in the world. He can’t see but he knows his mom. As soon as I pick him up he collapses in my arms purring, and always finds his way to nestle in my arms at night. I got Daisy when she was about 4. I was living in a farm community in Massachusetts and she was a friend’s mom’s cat. The mom just got a divorce and she couldn’t keep Daisy, or her companion Scuter, anymore. So, I took them both to avoid them going to a shelter. It was just a few months after my childhood cat Lou died at 16. Daisy had a great life living outside hunting squirrels and birds in Massachusetts. She would literally swallow them whole! (it was sad and impressive) Eventually she went to the vet where they informed me she has FIV. I was devastated. I didn’t know what this meant. I met with experts at the vet and joined community boards and it turns out that Daisy will live a fairly normal life, but she has to be an inside cat to avoid injury and transmission. It was a long hard adjustment for us. Every day she would cry and scratch at the window screens and try to sneak out. Eventually after moving back to NYC she has gotten used to her simple life playing with fake mice and laser pointers. She has been living with FIV for 7 years now and all her tests come back great. She is the best cat, and my best friend. She has been through everything with me. 10 moves, multiple partners, breakups, deaths. I couldn’t imagine life without her. Although I am starting to think more about it because she is about 11 and I know the time will come sooner than later.” Maggie Freleng is a journalist and audio producer who works from home and is obsessed with her cats.

Naomi Fry, Nina, Roo & Matilda

“Our cats, Roo and Matilda, are both very good girls, but they’re also two very different types. Roo is a large tabby. People always think she’s a man and I always get a little offended for her. She looks very dependable — she has the face of someone you’d ask to watch your laptop for you if you needed to use the bathroom at a cafe. Her body type often reminds me of the bowling bags Prada used to do; I can almost imagine attaching a shoulder strap to her and tucking her snugly under my arm. She’s six years old, and we adopted her when she was one. Nina, our daughter, was also one at the time, so they’ve been growing up together. In fact, she got her name because “roo” was Nina’s approximation of a cat’s meow when she tried to communicate with her initially. (Her original name at the shelter we got her from was Circus (!)) Probably the best part about having Roo as a cat is that she likes to sleep between me and my husband’s heads, and I often drift off with one palm underneath her, one over: a hand sandwich bursting with fuzzy goodness. Matilda (aka “Tilda” or “Tildy”) is younger and more of a wildcard. She’s slim and sprightly, mostly white with some black markings, and while she’s not exactly “bad,” she turns scratchy occasionally, which Roo never does. She has the personality of an aloof popular girl in a teen movie who you discover mid-plot actually has some problems — like maybe a dead parent or an eating disorder — that make her secretly sensitive. For instance, she can appear prancingly self-sufficient with no interest in spending time on your lap, but then she immediately goes limp and pliant when you pick her up, as if all she was waiting for was for someone to break through her brittle shell and give her the love she was craving. Matilda is about three; when we adopted her a couple of years ago, Roo was initially traumatized and spent the first couple of weeks up on the kitchen cupboards, terrified. For the next few months, every time they’d come face to face, they would paw and hiss at each other. Over time, however, they’ve gotten used to living together. They don’t like to co-snuggle or touch, but even though they’d probably deny it if they could, I think they’re really curious about one another. They love to try and sniff each other’s butts, and you can often find them hanging out together on the bed or the couch with the air of two retirees who’d rather die than exchange a single word, but who have also chosen to share the same bench at the park for the past fifteen years.” Naomi Fry is a writer living in Brooklyn, and the copy chief at T: The New York Times Style Magazine.

Alvina Bokhari & October

“I met baby October on the eve of my 21st birthday. He was the best birthday surprise! October was found inside a cardboard box behind an office in Long Island. As soon as I held him I was so in love. This is a new experience for me because October is my first pet. I definitely treat him like he’s a new born baby. I’ve been spending some time researching more about October and cats in general and I’ve found their behavior to be very interesting. I love that when he circles my leg it means he’s leaving his scent on me so other cats know I’m his. He’s very playful and loves to cuddle. We also have so much in common like our nap schedules and the fact that we aren’t too fond of the vacuum. I’m so lucky to come home to the sweetest little guy!” Alvina Bokhari currently lives in Midtown Manhattan while she attends FIT for fashion business merchandising.

Alexandra King, Lois & Maxine

“Lois and Maxine are 7-year old sisters. My husband adopted them five years ago from a no-kill shelter in Chicago, and named them after local diner waitresses. Even though they were the only kittens in the shelter that day, my husband said that everyone kept stopping to look, then immediately walking past their cage because it was clear they were not “normal” cats. Which they are not. They both have a condition called cerebellar hypoplasia (sometimes affectionately known as “wobbly cat syndrome”). It’s a brain condition in which some kittens are born with an under developed cerebellum, the part of the brain which governs motor skills. As a result, cats that have CH don’t have great balance or coordination- they walk like little drunks and don’t have that regular cat-like ability to jump. Though it sounds like a scary thing, it’s a condition that’s non-progressive, non-contagious and too few people know that it results in THE CUTEST KITTIES IN THE WORLD. They don’t do any of the asshole type things normal cats can be prone to, like scratching or biting or leaping on countertops. They’re not very bright, bless them, but they’re obsessed with people. And each other. All they want to do is cuddle. Other than not being the shiniest crayons in the pack, they are physiologically perfect. They don’t require any kind of treatments or meds or pricey trips to the vet. They have a completely normal life span. All you have to do is baby proof the house a bit (sharp corners can be a hazard) and get ready to be adored. Every morning, I wake up wearing a cat bikini, one snoozing across my chest, one on my hips. Very sadly, many kittens that show signs of CH when they are born are often destroyed, because people think that they won’t get adopted. But they are the best cats in the world! There are a bunch of rescue places on the internet that specialize in CH cat rescue. I can’t recommend enough bringing one of these little weirdos home.” Alex King is a journalist, writer and blogger. She owns an art gallery in Chinatown with her husband Isaac. She currently works at CNN, but also freelances for The Guardian and Refinery 29 among others.

Paulina Virgen & Schiap

“I met ‘the one’ in Greenpoint at the home of a woman who saved cats from the euthanasia list – her name was Eva. We knew we wanted to rescue and that perhaps we wanted a grey cat. So, I went and met the cats Eva had and fell in love with a little playful Russian Blue. He had been rescued from the streets of Bushwick and was only 2 months old at the time. Spencer (my then boyfriend, now husband) came to meet him and we agreed. This was it. A few days later Eva brought him to our apartment on North 7th and Bedford and we fell in love. Hard love. But we noticed something was different about this cat. Were his eyes a little brighter? Was his face a little rounder? We called but Eva assured us this was “our” cat. Okay, we thought – he’s here and the cutest thing we’ve ever seen. Whoever he is we love him! We named his Schiaparelli after the designer Elsa Schiaparelli. I told Spencer we would either name our future child Schiap or our cat…he could chose. He chose the cat. A few days went by and Schiap made himself feel at home. He slept on our laundry bags and pawed at our feet as we walked by him. 3 days after we got Schiap I got a phone call from Eva at 9 am – she frantically confirmed our suspicion. She gave us the wrong cat!!! The numbers of the cat we chose and the cat she gave us were just reversed. She apologized profusely and told me she would come by that afternoon to swap the cats out. At that point we had already fallen in love with Schiap and figured it would be awful to send him back. We kept him and we are SO happy we did. He is the most mischievous, vain and sweet cat we’ve ever met. A few interesting things about Schiap: he pees/poos in the toilet (even covers his poop and pee with toilet paper). He is a world class hunter (birds, mice, rats, cockroaches, worms – you name it, he’s brought it). He wakes me up at least 3 times a week asking to be spooned back to sleep. generally he bites my cheek or chirps until I open my eyes then he crawls beside me and lays on his side. At that point I have to put my arm around him or the bites start! We joke that he’s Mexican like me because he loves beans and avocado.” Paulina is a fabric r&d manager for Coach.

Dinah Eke & Wolfie

“I walked into the shelter with every intention of bringing home a fat Russian Blue kitty I had seen on their website. Before I had a chance to meet said kitty, the proprietor pulled me aside and asked if I was open to looking at another cat. I assumed she would show me another Russian Blue, but instead she showed me my Wolfie- a feral black cat. He made no eye contact, in fact, he ignored me the whole time. When I reached out to pet him, he skirted to the back of the cage and hissed. I turned to her, I didn’t understand. Then she explained to me that he was wary of people due to being treated badly in the past. As a black cat, he had a higher chance of getting put down than getting adopted. Wolfie was mean as hell and I had no idea if he would take to me, but I couldn’t bare the thought of him getting killed through no fault of his own. So I brought him home. It’s been four years since we met. He is still wary of strangers, but he is the most loving kitty ever! If you are not superstitious and ever have the opportunity to adopt; please give a black kitty a chance.” Dinah Eke is a lifestyle blogger at deediary.com.

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I’ve Photographed More Than 180 Girls And Their Cats To Prove That Cat Ladies Are Awesome

I started Girls and Their Cats on Instagram two years ago as a way to showcase cat ladies in a positive light. These are some of the most heartwarming stories from the series.

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You can also see my previous post here.

More info: Instagram | girlsandtheircats.com

Anna Agneta & Captain

“My husband Brian and I used to live in this old loft building in Toronto called The Coffin Factory, that’s what it was before people started living there. It was right next to this abattoir and around it there lived a colony of feral cats. They probably thrived from the waste of the pigs slaughtered there. They all looked tough as hell. Our dog wouldn’t even go near them. One day my friend Agi and her boyfriend at the time had a new cat mom and her kittens arrive on their doorstep. A friend of theirs had found her and dropped her off. She was no doubt from the colony, a beautiful pale grey calico with exotic light green eyes and orange ringlets on her tail. They named her Nala. When the kittens were ready to find new homes, we thought we’d go take a look. I remember going down through the maze-like hallways of The Coffin Factory to her unit. There were 6 kittens and they were all nuts, one climbing on something, a couple napping on the couch, another chasing a toy across the floor, they were everywhere. I wasn’t sure if we should get a cat since we travel and move around a lot, but Brian said “Of course we’ll take one of the kittens, we’ll make it work!” Ok, we’re getting a kitten. I’m not sure which came first, his boss-like swagger or his name, Captain. Probably his name but he grew into it so well I can’t imagine him as anything else. He’s always liked to ride around on our shoulders, I think it comes from his nature of liking to be up high and perhaps escape our overly affectionate dog when he was too small to ward her off. He’s a cat and can’t help but do cat-like things, like wake us up when be wants food, showing a certain remorselessness when he chews on expensive computer cords, but behind those things there’s something of higher being capable of great love and affection. Anyone who spends enough time with him falls completely in love. He tends to really affect people and share special moments with them. I feel very lucky that I get to be his cat mama.” Anna Agneta is a model and musician. She plays guitar in a Canadian indie rock band called Dusted.

Christene Barberich & Phoebe

“Two years ago, on New Year’s day, I was finishing up my usual annual ritual—bringing my journal with me from the previous year to a special place and taking stock of all the highlights and accomplishments of the year past. This time around, I chose the Mondrian hotel. And as I sat there detailing the events of the year, I began to feel very low, reflecting on another year gone by that I hadn’t had a child. Not that I hadn’t tried—I had and failed a few more miserable times. Amid all the wonderful things blossoming in my life, that one enduring defeat never seemed to stop lingering, casting a shadow over every small happiness. But, always, on this day for the past four years that we’d been trying, it hurt the most. On the way home from my ritual, I passed an animal hospital in my neighborhood. I saw a fluffy, white cat named Chalky in the window up for adoption, and went inside. I asked to meet Chalky, without even checking in with my husband about the prospect of fostering him. The attendant seemed delighted by my interest, but kept suggesting I meet another cat instead. Her name was Cora and she was deemed “special needs” because she’d lost her leg in a car accident the year prior. For some reason, I felt determined it was Chalky who should come home with us that day, but it was my husband who insisted we meet Cora since she’d been bounced around in foster care for months. About a half-hour later, my husband met me there. I was in kind of a daze, and didn’t even know what I was doing, but felt strangely guided to do it anyway. They took us into a small visitor’s room where they do potential pet-parent meet-and-greets. A few moments later, the door cracked open, and in popped this tiny, tiger-striped head—her bigs eyes were so wide and curious. She was so small but so elegant. She hopped in and I watched her look up at both of us, pensively, and then curl around Kevin’s ankle. He scooped her up with one hand and just looked at me, like, “Let’s get out of here.” And that was it. We brought her home. She hid out in her furry little cat house that she’d lived in at the shelter, until she gradually got used to roaming the apartment and finding new spots to claim as her own. It’s obvious she’s deeply devoted to Kevin, likes to hide around corners and pounce on his feet and ankles. But with me, she’s more soulful and sturdy. She sleeps between my legs and then, at some point during the night, she sneaks up alongside my chest and purrs until we both fall asleep again. I still don’t have a baby of my own. But Phoebe reminded me of how good it feels to love something, to really care for it and need that simple love in return. To feel like destiny had intervened and she had found her rightful home, too. Phoebe taught me it wasn’t all my fault that I couldn’t have a baby, and helped me find the courage to write about what all that loss was like in an essay on the website I co-founded,@Refinery29. The constant love and presence of a soul like Phoebe, reminded me that life does go on. That through heartbreak and failure and so much regret, comes other kinds of love and nurturing that you’re not always expecting, but that feeds you just the same. Very simply, Phoebe opened my heart again. And, she made me believe in myself, too, maybe in a way I never had before. “ Christene is the co-founder of Refinery29.

Simone Thompson & Nigel

“It was the brutal winter of 2015 & as I sat in my poorly heated Flatbush apartment my girlfriend presented me with a tiny, scrappy little black kitten by the name of Nigel. Nigel was big enough to fit in the palm of my hand and street smart enough to be unmistakably feral. He possessed a spastic quality and had been a rescue from East NY. Having previously sustained a head injury, he has a permanent head tilt which gives him the appearance of a cat that’s constantly questioning authority. He loved to scratch, bite and took joy in breaking everything within site. The adjustment period was admittedly tough. As a self pro-claimed cat lady I had a hard time warming up to him. He rarely was calm & antagonized me whenever he could. My girlfriend & I even began to fight because she accused me of not “loving our child.” After a few months though it all changed. We moved to Bedstuy & the change in scenery brought a new, less manic Nigel. His catastrophic kitten stage was finally over. He still bites but gives me cuddles.. sometimes. Most days he watches TV with me & I spend a lot of time asking him important life questions that go unanswered. He’s proved himself to be our difficult but loving child that my partner & I adore.”

Athena Wisotsky & Frikki

“I’ve wanted a cat of my own for so long, but I’ve moved a lot the last three years and there was always something in the way. I never felt settled enough, or the apartment was too small, or my housemates weren’t on board. I have three bodega cats I visit as often as I can, but it’s not the same as coming home to a little creature of my own. When my mother Donna passed away suddenly last month, I had the responsibility to re-home her cats in the middle of everything else that was going on. She had five! Two ladies that we got when I was in high school, and three siblings from one of them. They were her joy and companions, and it was so important to me to find safe and stable homes for them. She would always send me photos of them curled in her lap, or hamming it up, and tell me whatever antics they were getting up to. We joked that she would have to mail one to NYC. When she passed away, it felt like the right thing to do to adopt one of them. We didn’t choose Frikki at first. Her brother is a lot more social, happy and almost comically beautiful. But I realized that with her skittish temperament, she’d need a lot of patience and love. And my decidedly not-a-cat-person boyfriend Max even took to her right away (it was her giant cartoon eyes), so little Frik flew with us from Oregon to New York. It’s been less than a month but she’s warming up a lot, and so is the household. Max initially didn’t want her on the bed, but he caved within 3 days when he realized the power of a cat snug. I’ll often catch them cuddling in bed, and he will text me “How are my girls?” if I am working at home — sometimes with her in my lap. They have bonded already and it warms my heart. This isn’t the way I ever imagined getting my first cat, but having her around has been a major comfort in my grief. Sometimes I just sit and pet her and imagine my mom doing the same thing just a month ago. She’s a living piece of my mother’s life, I’m so happy to have her in my home.” Athena Wisotsky is a writer, editor and artist living in Brooklyn.

Jess Peterson & Oscar

“I got Oscar as a kitten from a craigslist ad. Not knowing at the time that there was a reason they put him on craigslist. He was a giant. He is now full grown at a lean 30lbs. (every doctor who has seen him claims he is the largest cat they have ever seen) Well, as most people would know, Giants tend to have bone issues. So, when Oscar was about 3 or 4 he started limping. his bones were all out of wack and eventually we discovered he had a luxating patella, which is common in dog breeds. Debating for a long time about surgery and success rates I was eventually talked into it by my cousin who is an orthopedic vet surgeon. She said it was a routine procedure and she’s done hundreds of them, and with his specific grade of luxation it was supposed to be no problem. One and done. It wasn’t. He ended up having 4 surgeries last year. It’s a lot to get into with each specific surgery that happened. It brings me to tears just thinking about it. It was the most difficult thing I have gone through in caring for another animal/being thus far in my life. It would have been impossible without the help of family and friends (most definitely my cousin and her hospital staff at Cornell Vet Specialist in Stamford). He became their favorite patient. With all the complications he actually ended up living at the hospital getting constant care for one month on two separate occasions. He even had acupuncture 3 times a week. I’ve never even had acupuncture. It was almost impossible to see the light at the end of the tunnel at many points. On the day he had a successful x-ray – after the 4th surgery – it was the best feeling. I made him a hat for that day, a kitten cake, tons of cat nip and had some champagne. He just celebrated his 7th birthday. He has touched many lives. Mostly mine.” Jess is jewelry designer and painter living in greenpoint.

Ashley Meyers & Oliver

“One evening about a year ago I was walking with some friends in Brooklyn heading to some get-together, when this little peanut ran up to us out of nowhere meowing purrrfusly while staring into my soul. I was apparently born with the gift of an aura that attracts kitty cats where ever I go. This little guy seemed ravenous with hunger. (Which I know now is just his personality) with no nearby homes in site and doors to knock on to see if he belonged to anyone, I decided it was best to just care for him until we figured something out. He was social and friendly but seemed to be on the streets for a while, as he was dirty and had a little ear wound. I asked the others if they would mind if he came along and they were more than happy to include him. We stopped at an open market on the way and fed him a couple cans. We proceeded to head to our destination with a new guest in our arms as if he had been our friend all along. I had just taken in my little furball Isabella. (Not pictured because she is afraid of anyone but me and missed her opportunity to have amazing photos in her new little hat that her mommy made her). Also, I wasn’t allowed to have any pets in this apartment and my roommate at the time wouldn’t have been happy with another cat. So, my compassionate friend who bonded with him that very evening, took him in for about a week while we figured it out. My friend kept him until he had to leave for tour with his band the Mystery Lights, so his gf, took him in until she wasn’t able to keep him anymore either, despite falling in love with him as everyone did along the way. So, I took him and the rest was history. After falling in love with my last roommates cat in my previous apt I was scared to get attached to another kitty cat again, but in reality, it wasn’t much of a life without a furbaby around. Oliver keeps me laughing all day every day. He is the biggest ham you will ever meet. I call him a little space cat. He has these enormous intense eyes that never seem to blink and he’s either sitting around on the couch like a human on his butt with his legs out or against a wall on his back with all fours up in the air. He also LOVES wearing clothes. Hats not so much. Everyone that meets him becomes a fan. Oliver and his older yet tinier sister love to chase each other like hyenas in the jungle and kiss and bathe each other like little heavenly angels. Watching them be mushy together is the most heartwarming, peaceful and precious thing to witness. They also couldn’t be any more different from each other. Both in size and personality. They are total opposites, which make quite the comical team. Isabella is the cuddliest sweetest little peanut but too afraid to be held which would drive me crazy, but Oliver makes up for that part. I love picking up his big chubby body and carrying him around like a baby. They make me so happy. A home without a mushball is no sweet home at all.” Ashley Meyers is a NJ native currently living in Brooklyn and working as a freelance makeup artist.

Chelsea Trout & Mushu

“I began fostering with the NYCACC in the beginning of 2014. It was my junior year in college, and I felt simultaneously compelled to begin volunteering again and severe separation anxiety from having a pet. It was a fairly quick progression into fostering kittens for me. I started fostering 1-2 kittens every few months, and quickly escalated to 2-3 on rotation — as soon as one set would leave, I’d ask to foster another. Fast-forward two years and about 30 kittens later, I found myself living with my boyfriend in our first apartment. It took a little persuading to get him fully onboard with my obsession. Almost a year into our lease, I accepted a request to foster two “singletons,” (the name they used for any young kittens that were without a litter). One, Reed, was an adorable little fluffball only about 5 weeks old. The other, Alipha, was a bit older, at maybe 9 weeks, and reportedly needed a little more socialization to get over her shyness. I looked at Alipha as my personal challenge, because I took pride in taking foster kittens in and sending them back to the shelter as extremely people-friendly and of healthy weight. In the first couple weeks of our time with Reed and Alipha, we saw little improvement in Alipha’s temperament (this would become a trend in our time with her). Reed, however, was just as bubbly and inquisitive as could be. I also began to notice that he really enjoyed being in my presence. If I was cooking or doing the dishes in the kitchen, I would find him directly next to me sprawled out and leisurely flipping his tail around. When I’d use the bathroom, he’d mosey on in and plop himself right on the floor in front of me — waiting patiently. There was something special about our connection that stood out from all of my past fosters. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but it was there. I eventually found myself giving the shelter excuses as to why it was too soon to send them back to the shelter to be taken to adoption events. “I don’t think Alipha has had enough time to fully get past her shyness,” I’d tell the foster coordinators. Meanwhile, Alipha turned out to be a cat that would not soon grow out of her habits. But I simply couldn’t part with Reed — who we had begun calling Mushu. I don’t remember the exact moment it was decided, but I woke up one day knowing I wasn’t sending Mushu to any adoption events. It was July 31, 2016 when the adoption was finalized. Mushu is still the greatest companion and friend I have ever known. As I type this, he’s sleeping on his little scratch pad directly in front of me, because even though he’s not the biggest cuddler he always wants to be within eyesight. He’s extremely verbal and even talks back when you ask him questions! He’s water-obsessed and will sit perched on the kitchen sink waiting for water to come out of the faucet. He welcomes people at the door, and has such a distinct personality that friends have often said he’s “not like other cats” they’ve met. He’s unbelievably inquisitive, and doesn’t shy away from getting in your face for a sniff. Though it’s been only a year with Mushu, it feels like I’ve known him a lifetime.” Chelsea Trout is a New Yorker born and raised, and has been living in Brooklyn for the last four years. She founded a women’s discussion group called Nasty Women’s Retreat that motivates and inspires her endlessly.

Maggie Freleng, Bandit & Daisy

“I went to the shelter looking for a kitten. I’ve never had a kitten because I always take in older rescues so it was time to treat myself. But when I went to the shelter I found Bandit, a 6-month-old blind cat, the shelter worker said had been there for months. No one wanted him. It broke my heart and even though I was looking for a kitten I took him. I couldn’t imagine life without him. He melts my heart every day sometimes I cry I’m so happy we found each other and people passed him up because he’s blind. He is the most special boy in the world. He can’t see but he knows his mom. As soon as I pick him up he collapses in my arms purring, and always finds his way to nestle in my arms at night. I got Daisy when she was about 4. I was living in a farm community in Massachusetts and she was a friend’s mom’s cat. The mom just got a divorce and she couldn’t keep Daisy, or her companion Scuter, anymore. So, I took them both to avoid them going to a shelter. It was just a few months after my childhood cat Lou died at 16. Daisy had a great life living outside hunting squirrels and birds in Massachusetts. She would literally swallow them whole! (it was sad and impressive) Eventually she went to the vet where they informed me she has FIV. I was devastated. I didn’t know what this meant. I met with experts at the vet and joined community boards and it turns out that Daisy will live a fairly normal life, but she has to be an inside cat to avoid injury and transmission. It was a long hard adjustment for us. Every day she would cry and scratch at the window screens and try to sneak out. Eventually after moving back to NYC she has gotten used to her simple life playing with fake mice and laser pointers. She has been living with FIV for 7 years now and all her tests come back great. She is the best cat, and my best friend. She has been through everything with me. 10 moves, multiple partners, breakups, deaths. I couldn’t imagine life without her. Although I am starting to think more about it because she is about 11 and I know the time will come sooner than later.” Maggie Freleng is a journalist and audio producer who works from home and is obsessed with her cats.

Naomi Fry, Nina, Roo & Matilda

“Our cats, Roo and Matilda, are both very good girls, but they’re also two very different types. Roo is a large tabby. People always think she’s a man and I always get a little offended for her. She looks very dependable — she has the face of someone you’d ask to watch your laptop for you if you needed to use the bathroom at a cafe. Her body type often reminds me of the bowling bags Prada used to do; I can almost imagine attaching a shoulder strap to her and tucking her snugly under my arm. She’s six years old, and we adopted her when she was one. Nina, our daughter, was also one at the time, so they’ve been growing up together. In fact, she got her name because “roo” was Nina’s approximation of a cat’s meow when she tried to communicate with her initially. (Her original name at the shelter we got her from was Circus (!)) Probably the best part about having Roo as a cat is that she likes to sleep between me and my husband’s heads, and I often drift off with one palm underneath her, one over: a hand sandwich bursting with fuzzy goodness. Matilda (aka “Tilda” or “Tildy”) is younger and more of a wildcard. She’s slim and sprightly, mostly white with some black markings, and while she’s not exactly “bad,” she turns scratchy occasionally, which Roo never does. She has the personality of an aloof popular girl in a teen movie who you discover mid-plot actually has some problems — like maybe a dead parent or an eating disorder — that make her secretly sensitive. For instance, she can appear prancingly self-sufficient with no interest in spending time on your lap, but then she immediately goes limp and pliant when you pick her up, as if all she was waiting for was for someone to break through her brittle shell and give her the love she was craving. Matilda is about three; when we adopted her a couple of years ago, Roo was initially traumatized and spent the first couple of weeks up on the kitchen cupboards, terrified. For the next few months, every time they’d come face to face, they would paw and hiss at each other. Over time, however, they’ve gotten used to living together. They don’t like to co-snuggle or touch, but even though they’d probably deny it if they could, I think they’re really curious about one another. They love to try and sniff each other’s butts, and you can often find them hanging out together on the bed or the couch with the air of two retirees who’d rather die than exchange a single word, but who have also chosen to share the same bench at the park for the past fifteen years.” Naomi Fry is a writer living in Brooklyn, and the copy chief at T: The New York Times Style Magazine.

Alvina Bokhari & October

“I met baby October on the eve of my 21st birthday. He was the best birthday surprise! October was found inside a cardboard box behind an office in Long Island. As soon as I held him I was so in love. This is a new experience for me because October is my first pet. I definitely treat him like he’s a new born baby. I’ve been spending some time researching more about October and cats in general and I’ve found their behavior to be very interesting. I love that when he circles my leg it means he’s leaving his scent on me so other cats know I’m his. He’s very playful and loves to cuddle. We also have so much in common like our nap schedules and the fact that we aren’t too fond of the vacuum. I’m so lucky to come home to the sweetest little guy!” Alvina Bokhari currently lives in Midtown Manhattan while she attends FIT for fashion business merchandising.

Alexandra King, Lois & Maxine

“Lois and Maxine are 7-year old sisters. My husband adopted them five years ago from a no-kill shelter in Chicago, and named them after local diner waitresses. Even though they were the only kittens in the shelter that day, my husband said that everyone kept stopping to look, then immediately walking past their cage because it was clear they were not “normal” cats. Which they are not. They both have a condition called cerebellar hypoplasia (sometimes affectionately known as “wobbly cat syndrome”). It’s a brain condition in which some kittens are born with an under developed cerebellum, the part of the brain which governs motor skills. As a result, cats that have CH don’t have great balance or coordination- they walk like little drunks and don’t have that regular cat-like ability to jump. Though it sounds like a scary thing, it’s a condition that’s non-progressive, non-contagious and too few people know that it results in THE CUTEST KITTIES IN THE WORLD. They don’t do any of the asshole type things normal cats can be prone to, like scratching or biting or leaping on countertops. They’re not very bright, bless them, but they’re obsessed with people. And each other. All they want to do is cuddle. Other than not being the shiniest crayons in the pack, they are physiologically perfect. They don’t require any kind of treatments or meds or pricey trips to the vet. They have a completely normal life span. All you have to do is baby proof the house a bit (sharp corners can be a hazard) and get ready to be adored. Every morning, I wake up wearing a cat bikini, one snoozing across my chest, one on my hips. Very sadly, many kittens that show signs of CH when they are born are often destroyed, because people think that they won’t get adopted. But they are the best cats in the world! There are a bunch of rescue places on the internet that specialize in CH cat rescue. I can’t recommend enough bringing one of these little weirdos home.” Alex King is a journalist, writer and blogger. She owns an art gallery in Chinatown with her husband Isaac. She currently works at CNN, but also freelances for The Guardian and Refinery 29 among others.

Paulina Virgen & Schiap

“I met ‘the one’ in Greenpoint at the home of a woman who saved cats from the euthanasia list – her name was Eva. We knew we wanted to rescue and that perhaps we wanted a grey cat. So, I went and met the cats Eva had and fell in love with a little playful Russian Blue. He had been rescued from the streets of Bushwick and was only 2 months old at the time. Spencer (my then boyfriend, now husband) came to meet him and we agreed. This was it. A few days later Eva brought him to our apartment on North 7th and Bedford and we fell in love. Hard love. But we noticed something was different about this cat. Were his eyes a little brighter? Was his face a little rounder? We called but Eva assured us this was “our” cat. Okay, we thought – he’s here and the cutest thing we’ve ever seen. Whoever he is we love him! We named his Schiaparelli after the designer Elsa Schiaparelli. I told Spencer we would either name our future child Schiap or our cat…he could chose. He chose the cat. A few days went by and Schiap made himself feel at home. He slept on our laundry bags and pawed at our feet as we walked by him. 3 days after we got Schiap I got a phone call from Eva at 9 am – she frantically confirmed our suspicion. She gave us the wrong cat!!! The numbers of the cat we chose and the cat she gave us were just reversed. She apologized profusely and told me she would come by that afternoon to swap the cats out. At that point we had already fallen in love with Schiap and figured it would be awful to send him back. We kept him and we are SO happy we did. He is the most mischievous, vain and sweet cat we’ve ever met. A few interesting things about Schiap: he pees/poos in the toilet (even covers his poop and pee with toilet paper). He is a world class hunter (birds, mice, rats, cockroaches, worms – you name it, he’s brought it). He wakes me up at least 3 times a week asking to be spooned back to sleep. generally he bites my cheek or chirps until I open my eyes then he crawls beside me and lays on his side. At that point I have to put my arm around him or the bites start! We joke that he’s Mexican like me because he loves beans and avocado.” Paulina is a fabric r&d manager for Coach.

Dinah Eke & Wolfie

“I walked into the shelter with every intention of bringing home a fat Russian Blue kitty I had seen on their website. Before I had a chance to meet said kitty, the proprietor pulled me aside and asked if I was open to looking at another cat. I assumed she would show me another Russian Blue, but instead she showed me my Wolfie- a feral black cat. He made no eye contact, in fact, he ignored me the whole time. When I reached out to pet him, he skirted to the back of the cage and hissed. I turned to her, I didn’t understand. Then she explained to me that he was wary of people due to being treated badly in the past. As a black cat, he had a higher chance of getting put down than getting adopted. Wolfie was mean as hell and I had no idea if he would take to me, but I couldn’t bare the thought of him getting killed through no fault of his own. So I brought him home. It’s been four years since we met. He is still wary of strangers, but he is the most loving kitty ever! If you are not superstitious and ever have the opportunity to adopt; please give a black kitty a chance.” Dinah Eke is a lifestyle blogger at deediary.com.

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