July 9, 2025

Celebrating a Decade of Jasper Schuster

An (imagined) Q&A on the 10th anniversary of Jasper's "Gotcha Day"

I wasn’t sure if I was ready for another cat. It had been more than a year since the passing of Bruce Lee Schuster—a movie star caliber handsome tabby I found on the corner of First Avenue and First Street (I can’t stand the show Seinfeld, but yes, that’s the “Nexus of the Universe”) who randomly wandered into my life in 2001 just as my marriage was ending. He was willful but cuddly, although toward the end only with me. He had been a wonderful companion for 13 years. I was beginning to miss having a cat, as heartbreaking as it is when they leave us. 

Nearly a day after I began saying out loud that I was tentatively ready, my friend Sallie told me some friends had rescued a black stray with a white chin marking and matching spot on his lower belly who had wandered into their yard in Ridgewood. They had him checked out at the vet for diseases and other conditions (none), was administered protective vaccines, and neutered, but they couldn’t keep him because of their other cats. If someone didn’t take him within the next week, they’d have to bring him to a shelter. 

Black cats, no matter how sweet they can be, are often the last to be adopted at a shelter, if at all. And though he was likely still a youngster, thought to be less than two (he won’t divulge his real age or doesn’t know who his parents or siblings were), he was considered an adult cat, which would also be working against him. 

“Is he affectionate?” I asked. Face it. Cats can be assholes. I had friends who had a cat who needed regular psychotropics and never cuddled. 

“He’s a champion biscuit-maker, apparently.” 

I had another gander at the photos they sent. What a soulful expression on that mug.  

“Litterbox trained? And does he have a name?” 

“He is, and it’s Jasper. They say his eyes remind them of light green jasper stones.” 

Well damn. 

He came to live with me exactly ten years ago today—July 9, 2015. The tricky thing about the timing was that I would be leaving town for nearly a week for Tales of the Cocktail in New Orleans less than a couple of days after his arrival, but my friend John Hedigan, who at the time was recently cat-less himself, offered to take a short Brooklyn vacay and look after him. It was an amazing favor given how relatively untested the situation was. What if Jasper got weird? Also break a lot of shit? I didn’t even know him yet. 

I regularly called to check in. On the third or fourth day, he called me. When I saw the number pop up I panicked, and hesitantly swiped to pick the call up. 

“He’s lying on my chest trying to chew the buttons on my shirt and I don’t want to leave for work,” John told me. I could hear him purring in the background. As the years have gone on with this ridiculously affectionate, I suspect intentionally funny, and effortlessly adorable animal, as he’s grown to be nearly three times the size he was that week (he’s a looooong House Panther with strong muscles, ahem), that purr has only amplified.

Thank you so much, John, and all the other friends who have been his catsitters so far over the years!

Some fun Jasper stats

Nicknames: Jass, Buddy, Honey Lamb, My Duuuuude, DJ Jazzy Jass, Jass.

Viking Name: Purry Purrlsson

Roundtable Name: Sir Eats Alot

Dumbest thing I’ve said to him so far: “Get down! And I don’t mean in the disco sense!” 

Jasper Schuster speaks (Ok, not really…)

In honor of Jasper’s 10th Gotcha Day anniversary, I thought it might be time to get him in the hot seat. No, of course I am not pretending he can actually speak to me, or that I can hear his thoughts or whatever (I am a cat lady after all, but not I like to think I’m not a crazy one, at least not yet). But here is what I’d like to think he would say if he had a way of saying it. He’s from Queens, so I imagine he sounds kinda like Ray Romano when he was voicing the comedy cartoon show Dr. Katz.  

The Schudown: So what’s it like to be so cute?

Jasper Schuster: You tell me. I sometimes boop you on the nose in the morning with my paw to wake you up and you don’t get mad. I just tricked you into putting kibble in my bowl by rubbing my nose on your face, mewling, and doing this thing with my eyes. 

TS: What thing? 

JS: You know… 

(We pause as more kibble is dropped in a dish.) 

TS: So you were already house-trained and social with other people, does that mean you already had a comfortable home before I met you? What were you doing out on the street that day?

JS: I don’t really remember, but it’s Ridgewood! I probably lived with a band. We got into some crazy nip. You saw how skinny I was, right?

TS: Wait. A band? Like, musicians? 

JS: I think that’s what it was. I don’t know. I was pretty wasted. I think I was tapping this black and white thing with my paws—it kind of looked like me. It made sounds. Each tap had a different sound. I couldn’t stop, even when they picked me up and put me back on the floor. I had to give it a boop. Like this. 

(boops my nose)

TS: Hey, quit it, buddy! 

J.S. I’m just demonstrating! Anyway, next thing I know I’m out on the street. With the munchies. 

TS: You’ve always had an appetite. 

JS: I’m never not hungry! Got any of that popcorn I like? Or bacon? 

TS: Maybe later. I want to know more. You… play the piano?

JS: Is that what that is? Yeah. Why don’t you have one? Not that it’s a deal breaker or anything… 

TS: No room. 

JS: Maybe where my bed is. 

TS: That’s not your “bed”. It’s a big box filled with bags that I was fixing to toss out but you made a kind of nest near the radiator. 

JS: Now you can never get rid of it. EVER.

TS: I know.

JS: That’s what it’s like to be this cute. 

TS: I get it. Ok, one more question. 

JS: Shoot.

TS: If you have that “bed” and the actual thermal bed I bought you that’s in the living room, why do you also disappear into the closet for countless hours of the day? 

JS: You can never find me when you come looking, can you? 

TS: That’s why I’m asking! Remember that time the construction guys left my apartment door AND the door to the whole house propped open? I couldn’t find you! I thought you were gone forever. Then you just strolled into the living room. 

JS: Psyyyyych!

TS: Why did you do that? 

JS: Hey, I might act like a “dog-like cat” sometimes—your words—but I’m still a cat. 

TS: I was worried sick! For nearly an hour!

JS: Yes, but you have to understand: basic cat instinct wouldn’t let me appear just yet.

TS: So where were you?

JS: Portal.

TS: What? Are you kidding? 

JS: Nope. Totally different dimension. 

TS: Lion, Witch, and the Wardrobe stuff? You go to… Narnia? From the back of the closet? 

JS: What’s that? No. It’s just, you know, a place. 

TS: What do you do there? 

JS: I don’t remember. Probably nap. Which is why I can never remember the last time I ate. 

TS: Can I come with you sometime? 

JS: No. 

TS: Why?

JS: It’s cat business. But hey, I always come out and lie on your belly for a while, right? And even though most things on your kitchen table are fair game, I don’t break any bottles. I’m not going to someone else’s house again. I come back. Every time. I’m your cat now. 

TS: Yeah, thank you. I’m so glad you’re here.

JS: Me too.