I had finally found an apartment in Manhattan I could afford and, at that, could afford to live in by myself. I would soon be a pet owner too. My family, after all, had always had a dog and always adopted a new dog when something unfortunate happened to the last dog. The answer's easy. In Texas my family lived in a San Antonio barrio where houses had yards.
Manhattan is apartment buildings and cement.
I chose to do neither and took up the offer of a coworker, Tommy. Tommy had recently married, and between his and hers had more pets than she and her new husband could handle. I took the white, calico-spotted cat Tommy's husband had named Prince. And the day after my very first grocery-shopping trip in my new neighborhood, girthsome Prince and his appetite opened a cold rift between himself and his new owner. I rushed home that day brimming with domestic pride.