The first real heatwave of the year arrived this week and so did the death of my window AC unit, which chose 92 degrees to file its resignation.
My apartment in Harlem became a tandoor. I tried the wet-towel-on-neck thing. I tried lying very still on my kitchen floor like a tragic heroine. I tried denial. None of it works against a New York heatwave that bounces off the pavement and comes for you from below.
So I did what any sensible person does. I fled to the bodega on the corner for the air conditioning and a cold mango Maaza.
This is where I met Shah Rukh.
Shah Rukh is the bodega cat. I asked his name and the guy behind the counter said it completely straight, like obviously the cat is named after the greatest movie star alive. Shah Rukh was draped across the chip display in a patch of cold air, one paw out, absolutely thriving in this heatwave while the rest of us suffer.
That cat has solved the puzzle. Find the cold spot. Refuse to move. Let the humans come and go. Accept worship as your birthright.
I sat by the freezer section longer than was reasonable. The owner didn't mind. He turned up the AC a notch and we watched a soccer game neither of us was invested in.
The heatwave will break by Sunday, they say. Until then I'm basically commuting between the 2 train and any door with cold air behind it.
My AC is dead. But Shah Rukh lives, and he is unbothered.
Be the bodega cat. Find your cold spot and guard it with your life.
Love,