Last October, I wrote about a store in New York called The Little Lebowski Shop, dedicated to all things Big Lebowski-related. That’s owner Roy Preston in the picture, in front of the store with his cat, Misha. On Friday, I received a cryptic comment on the post, from someone calling herself “bluehairedcatlady”, saying Misha had disappeared, alleging Roy “hated anyone who was nice to Misha” and that “he thinks he can do whatever he wants to her and no one will care.”
Serious allegations. And it seemed like there might be an interesting story there, so I asked Mr. Preston about it. Let’s just say I think I was right. This was his response:
I moved into an apartment that allows pets. I took Misha home. The day after I took her to her new pad, one of the women in Misha’s fan club flew into a panic of epic proportions. This woman liked to bang on the front window of my store at 8:30 AM sharp every morning and then scream at the top of her lungs, “MEISH! COME TO THE WINDOW!” This was usually followed by five minutes of her telling Misha what an asshole I was for leaving her in the store by herself. (This woman also famously once told me that she had a psychic connection with Misha. Believe it or not, Misha told her that living with me made her miserable.)
The building shook each time she hit the window with her tyranical little super fist. Now on this particular morning, because the two of us weren’t there, Misha failed to come to the window; and the woman, believing Misha was somewhere within caught in the icy grip of cardiac arrest, tried to break into the building to rescue her. (Again, Misha and I were not at the store during the attempted break in. We were at home having breakfast together. I was told of the woman’s belated rescue attempt later by a baffled neighbor.)
As you can imagine, not wanting to involve the “POLICE”, I felt it was best to leave Misha’s whereabouts confidential.
The two of us are doing fine, living together in a witness protection program at an undisclosed location.
All is well and in another week or two Misha will be fat enough to eat.
I hope this clears things up.
Ahh, I love a good pussy story. It’s a shame though, man. That cat really tied the store together.
All Joking aside, I put Misha on a leash so she wouldn’t run out into the street and get hit by a car. It seemed like the most humane thing to do since she’s a roamer. She could sit outside all day and people loved seeing her. Her food and water was always next to her. Misha was a rescue cat and if I hadn’t taken her in she would’ve been put to sleep. A few overzealous cat Nazis ruined it for everyone. I couldn’t allow them to continue making scenes in front of my store so I took her home.
The woman I wrote about has been sending me over night Express Fedex letters, she lives around the corner, demanding play dates with the cat. Very strange indeed.
F*ckin’ cat Nazis. Say what you will about the tenets of feline socialism, man, at least it’s an ethos.