This is Fargo.
Fargo is our dog.
Back when the pandemic had just begun, and we were still living on the East Side the first time, we’d walk up and down Sixth Street each night, from Shangri-La to HEB and back. Fargo wasn’t around yet, but the cat pictured above was, and we’d see her a lot of evenings—she’d follow us from the Grackle to that little food truck lot with the Big Boy statue, or vice versa, or in both directions, and she’d meow at us and we’d give her a few scritches on her spine as she arched her back. We moved away that summer, over to Hyde Park, but every few months I’d pick up a Stuber Eats delivery around there, and there she’d occasionally be, in front of The Liberty, where they kept a couple bowls for her in the alcove by the door. We called her the Queen of East Sixth, which never fully clicked, but lately, seeing her on walks now that we’re back on the East Side, she goes more often by just “the Queen.”
The pictured encounter was Fargo’s third with the Queen, but only the second where Fargo noticed. The first time, the Queen hung out in the rocks that separate the sidewalk from the street, trying to figure this particular dog out while this particular dog tried, unaware of the feline a few feet behind her, to enter a barbershop uninvited. The second time, Fargo noticed the Queen early, and the Queen interpreted Fargo’s manic forward-leaning leash-restrained thrashings as a chase (possibly correctly), opting in response to duck under a gate and watch through the fence while this particular dog, bamboozled, tried to figure out where in the heck a cat could have gotten an invisibility cloak.
This third time, the two were friendly. Fargo, of course, was elated to be making a new friend. The tail was a-swingin’. The Queen, being a cat, was not similarly thrilled, but she was curious, and the two stood a short distance from one another, Fargo giving slight sniffs while the Queen took in the fluffy, panting, joyous beast. It was a cordial moment, and the fact Fargo didn’t try to play with the cat, let alone play rough, gave us hope for our own eventual addition of a cat to this household and staff.
This is, I think, the third main character cat in Fargo’s life. There have been occasional visits from others—popping in on walks, hiding under our car in the driveway, hissing at her in the veterinary lobby. But this is the third, and so far, we’re two-for-three on friendly interactions. She got along great with Chapo. She did not get along great with our old neighbor’s cat, but to be fair, had the cat not gone running to its front door every time Fargo tried to play (making Fargo look like the bad guy) maybe Fargo wouldn’t have pissed on its lawn every time she felt feisty.
Hopefully Fargo tries to play with the Queen soon. Hopefully the Queen gives Fargo a smack in the face. Fargo would love getting smacked in the face by a cat.
