Frieda
I have an apartment now, in the Prenzlauer Berg neighborhood of Berlin, and it is, as all things generally are, much better than I had imagined in some ways, and much weirder and more inconvenient in other ways. For example, it is situated literally steps away from the Eberswalder Str. stop of the U2 subway line, which is convenient but obviously a little noisy. I didn't keep me from sleeping last night, but I don't think anything could have, since after watching the Gameday broadcast of the second to last game of the season for the Red Sox with my wireless internet connection (convenient!), I didn't want to stay awake to think about it. At some point, some very loud and possibly angry shouting on the street outside woke me up (inconvenient!), but in my comfy bed (convenient!), under my warm comforter (that I brought with me, so: inconvenient!) it was easy to go back to sleep.
The kitchen is totally usable, very clean and roomy, but I have to light the (new: convenient) stove with a lighter. The bathroom is possibly the strangest room, as you have to step up as you walk into it, and then step up twice more to get into the shower, so it's like taking a shower on a stage of some sort. The kitchen windows look out over a green courtyard, green because it's mossy, not because of any other plant growth. The entire apartment is very light, I think because it used to be the studio of the landlord, who is a painter. The landlord has a very green-eyed cat, named Frieda, who apparently loves my apartment. She has come to the window at least four times this morning, and when sitting on the ledge and looking at me fixedly doesn't work, she scratches at the frame. I let her in sometimes, because she's a pretty awesome cat, but much like a two-year-old, I can't have her wandering about unsupervised until I have cat-proofed the apartment. The reasons for needing to cat-proof and those for Frieda being awesome are the same, and essentially boil down to her not being a very stereotypical cat. She follows me from room to room, bounding ahead of me and runnign back to rub against my legs, and she tries to eat things on tables, like flowers or a basil plant. She tried repeatedly to crawl inside my backpack, and attempted to open my suitcases. Like cats do, she went crazy over a string, but like most cats don't, she climed into my lap and then proceeded to go crazy over the knee of my sweatpants. And she's much too big to be any sort of kitten anymore.
So now I'm going to go out and buy some things I need, like salt and a saucepan, and maybe a pretzel, if I can find a bakery open on a Sunday. Or, more likely, I will find myriad pretzels and food items at whatever celebration is going on on Unter den Linden, because tomorrow is German Reunification Day, and the festivities start today, as far as I can tell.
The kitchen is totally usable, very clean and roomy, but I have to light the (new: convenient) stove with a lighter. The bathroom is possibly the strangest room, as you have to step up as you walk into it, and then step up twice more to get into the shower, so it's like taking a shower on a stage of some sort. The kitchen windows look out over a green courtyard, green because it's mossy, not because of any other plant growth. The entire apartment is very light, I think because it used to be the studio of the landlord, who is a painter. The landlord has a very green-eyed cat, named Frieda, who apparently loves my apartment. She has come to the window at least four times this morning, and when sitting on the ledge and looking at me fixedly doesn't work, she scratches at the frame. I let her in sometimes, because she's a pretty awesome cat, but much like a two-year-old, I can't have her wandering about unsupervised until I have cat-proofed the apartment. The reasons for needing to cat-proof and those for Frieda being awesome are the same, and essentially boil down to her not being a very stereotypical cat. She follows me from room to room, bounding ahead of me and runnign back to rub against my legs, and she tries to eat things on tables, like flowers or a basil plant. She tried repeatedly to crawl inside my backpack, and attempted to open my suitcases. Like cats do, she went crazy over a string, but like most cats don't, she climed into my lap and then proceeded to go crazy over the knee of my sweatpants. And she's much too big to be any sort of kitten anymore.
So now I'm going to go out and buy some things I need, like salt and a saucepan, and maybe a pretzel, if I can find a bakery open on a Sunday. Or, more likely, I will find myriad pretzels and food items at whatever celebration is going on on Unter den Linden, because tomorrow is German Reunification Day, and the festivities start today, as far as I can tell.
posted by Katherine at 6:57 AM
1 Comments:
Frieda is the apotheosis of cats. She is big and furry and has claws like "whoa." One cannot imagine that Frieda would fit in well in the army in any sort of command position, because she takes no prisoners. One time Frieda bit me.
Frieda is overflowing with what the old school of catwatchers, the feline Sorbonne, would call "verve." She puts on no airs, but will attack a paper sack if you are foolish enough to ally yourself with it. Sometimes she gets confused while attacking a paper sack, and will take a moment to chill out and reassess her situation. That's called wisdom, children, and it's something we could all use a little more of.
When it is time to put Frieda out of the apartment she hides under the exact geographical center of the table, so as to be very hard to pick up and defenestrate. I raise my glass to you, Frieda - you are quite the rascal. The corporate world? Will look after itself. Do your own thing, my cat friend. March under your own banner. Awesome cat!
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