New Yorkers are famously indifferent toward their fellow citizens, yet they are surprisingly sentimental about animals, as one can see by the amount of ink dedicated to such beasts as Pale Male and Lola (the red-tailed hawks who poop on the rich folks of the Upper East Side), the recently deceased Central Park coyote, a feral chicken that used to run around the Lower East Side, and so on. Now it seems that news outlets around the world have taken up the drama of Millie the deli cat, who has been trapped in the walls of some West Village brownstone for the past two weeks. I’m pretty soft about cats, as anyone who has met my own pets can attest, but the energy being expended on this one is just a bit excessive (from today’s NYT):

On Thursday, volunteers brought in a box of mewing kittens, hoping to draw Millie out by triggering her maternal instincts. That did not work either. They also brought in a cat therapist, who tried to coax her out with soothing words.

“I hear you, sweetheart,” the therapist, Carole Wilbourn, cooed. “Come on, Millie, you can do it. Everybody wants you to come out. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

But one of Mr. Pastore’s assistants, wearing a surgical mask, came out of the dusty cellar and asked Ms. Wilbourn to stop. “I think you’re stressing her out,” the assistant said.

Points, though, for smacking down the pet therapist.

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