The Cat Lady of
the East Village, New York
by Jilliana
Ranicar-Breese
I was staying with the well
established Penny Farthing and Bicycle Collector
Pryor Dodge in his fascinating loft in Soho,
Manhattan, for a couple of weeks in 1980. I
would come back in the late evening just as he
would be going out. In New York I quickly learned
that you made evening appointments at designated
times and should never assume that if you were to
meet someone at 8.00 pm that you would be with
them for dinner. Oh no they would race off for
another rendezvous at 9.00 and you would be left
high and dry dining on your own!
Out of the blue Pryor asked
me to find another place to hang out for a week
before coming back to his museum loft for my
final week. What to do and where to go? I began
to ask my crazy colleagues in the collectables
world for a bed!! A shipping collector, who
worked in window display at Macy's, suggested his
colleague Anna who lived in a flat in the East
Village and who could do with an extra $30 a week.
I had previously rented a flat in Greenwich
Village while the owner was abroad a few years
earlier on Bleaker Street when I had come for a
month and exhibited at Madison a Garden antiques
show. Those were the days! I knew that the East
Village had a drug scene and could be quite
dangerous at night so I had never visited the
area as I was not into sex, drugs and rock and
roll. I accepted, however, because I was told
that Anna was passionate about cats. So was I but
until I got there I had no idea what a nutty cat
lady she was!!
Anna rented me her charming
bedroom which was full of Indian textiles and
interesting objects. The atmosphere of the room
was very hippy with late 70s decor. She
moved into her small living room sleeping on the
couch with her cats. She collected and loved
every deformed cat in the neighbourhood! There
was something wrong with each one! Three legs,
one weeping eye, one bitten off ear, bald patches,
you name it and the cat had it. There were about
eight plus a little out of place cute, nothing
wrong with it, doggy called Bow Wow. Their large
tray was in the bathroom down the hall, out of
the way thank goodness, because they never went
outdoors but I don't remember the flat smelling.
The deformed cats upset me
a lot being passionate about cats. Eventually I
only allowed two to enter my newly adopted
bedroom. All the rest miaowed outside the closed
door. Anna woke me up each morning greeting each
cat excitedly by name in a loud voice before she
left for Macy's. I felt so sorry for her and her
miserable existence that I invited her out for
dinner in The East Village. She always set at
home to save the bucks. A pleasant woman but so
depressing and lonely in her sanctuary of catty
friends who could not answer her back but who
gave her a lot if pleasure.
I stayed a memorable week
but never discovered The East Village because my
time was spent with friends, clients and
colleagues in Soho, Chelsea and Greenwich Village
in the crazy world of collecting between 1980 and
1982 when I was dealing between London, Paris and
New York, buying in one country and selling in
another filling in the jigsaw culture gaps.
I was not to return to the
wonderful Apple again until 2014 when I was
reunited with a few of my friends and colleagues
including Pryor Dodge who apologised he could no
longer put me up as he had married his Tango
partner, the lovely Tina, fifteen years earlier.
This time with no cats, I stayed in a brownstone
in Chelsea owned by Tony Torn, the son of
the famous actors Geraldine Page and Rip Torn in
his Actor's Studio. So instead of the loud
sound of mewing cats I experienced the sound if
chorusing actors performing at all hours. But
that is a story for another day!
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