Vignettes of Red Hook: Morgan’s Cat Cafe, Friday, September 1, 3:30 p.m.
If you weren’t looking for the place you’d miss it, although it’s fairly difficult to ignore the sunbathing kitten in the window. Nestled on a not-so-busy side street in Red Hook, below a yoga studio and beside a boutique is Morgan’s Cat Cafe.
The cafe is silent except for the buzzing of coolers and a group of teenage girls buying cat-themed cupcakes at the counter. They’re all vegan cupcakes, of course. As a sign on the counter says, Morgan’s makes a point to only serve vegan food as a way of respecting all animals — not just cats.
A woman sits on her laptop with her feet on the table while a young boy, no older than thirteen, mans the counter. Decor is sparse, though it looks well-loved. After a one dollar donation, I’m asked to wash my hands at a small sink beside the door and remove my shoes.
Hands clean and shoes placed in sloppily drawn outlines on the floor, I enter the small glass room off to the side. Or I try to enter the room. A cat is lying in front of the door, blocking my path. The young boy follows me inside, sitting on a bench next to a sleeping cat. He pets the cat and watches as I step into the room, taking in the large cages and toys.
On the far wall is a small board with the name, age and description of each cat. The walls are covered in hand-painted murals of skies and cats on balloons.
I quickly forget the murals when a small, gray and white kitten nudges my leg. “That’s Nacho. He’s a few months old,” the boy announces. He says Nacho and Lilac are his favorites because they like to play and they’re friendly. Shortly after, the boy is gone.
In one corner is a large cage of newborn kittens. They’ve recently been rescued from a dumpster and have uncreatively been labelled “The Dumpster Kittens.” They’re all asleep — as are most of the cats. Nacho and Lilac are the only two awake.
Lilac, a beautiful mix of blacks, grays and oranges is jumping from the floor to the top of the cages. A different boy, also no older than thirteen, enters. He quietly sits and pets the cats.
He watches my surprise as Lilac hops from cage to cage, windowsill to bench. She’s full of life.
“Lilac is crazy. She escaped last week,” he says. He continues, explaining the place is run by volunteers and he likes it here. Lilac and Nacho are also his favorites and he likes playing with the local shelter rescues whenever he wants.
In a different large cage, the cat inside has woken up. She prances back and forth, anxious to leave.
“Is she allowed to come out?”
He says she’s too rough with the other cats. She shortly gives up on her quest to escape and falls back asleep.
Nacho, my friend from earlier, runs over to me and hugs my foot. I see why he’s the favorite. He’s quickly become my favorite, too.
After a final survey of the room and a difficult goodbye, I part ways with Morgan’s Cat Cafe. The street is as empty and quiet as I’d left it, the only difference is the cat fur on my jeans.
