Baby Pepper

‘I always thought of myself as a dog person.’

Perchik was born in a cardboard box under a bridge in Suffolk. “A young cat with baby kittens was found under the bridge,” was how the Suffolk veterinarian described it, with emphasis on young, as if the cat in question was careless, off the pill, and her future was now in jeopardy.

I’ve always thought of myself as a dog person. That is, until I moved in with Masha and met Perchik.

Perchik means “pepper” in Russian — or rather, “baby pepper.” And the name suits him not just because he’s ash black but also because when I first met him, my eyes got red and swollen, tears prohibiting my vision, as if I had used an entire pepper spray can on my face.

I was always allergic to cats — or any animals, really — with rare exceptions. A quick Google search tells me that animals emit a certain protein that makes some people allergic, so it’s not the hair that’s the problem. But I knew that before I could even use Google.

Ever since I turned five and my grandmother’s preference for cats evolved toward the hairless type, I’d still turn into a crying, red-faced monster every time I neared one.

“How can you be allergic?” my grandmother used to yell in protest, as if my (natural) bodily reaction was an insult to her feline friends. “You are a liar!”

She’s known for such accusations, especially toward little children. Once, several years ago, I witnessed her scold my three-year-old cousin, who didn’t want to finish eating her borscht soup.