Little is known about Quincy's first year on earth. The good folks at Washington Heights Cat Colony (co-founded by Sherri Laurence and Trish Bogle) suspect that he had been abused as a baby -- and presumably driven onto that third-story ledge out of fear and desperation. He's a survivor.
In 2010, Quincy moved from foster home to foster home, where he was cared for and nursed back to health. (Thank you, Lenore!)
But change was in the air. This past Friday, he was adopted into his permanent home -- his "forever home," in animal adoption parlance.
Still, Quincy keeps crawling out on that proverbial ledge. His official date of adoption is the traditionally unlucky Friday the 13th.
And as if that's not enough, he will have to endure one more unspeakable indignity -- living the rest of his natural life in the home of a puzzlemaker.
That said . . . Quincy has adapted to his new digs with remarkable resilience and good cheer, dismissing the abecedarian surroundings (rooms full of weird books about words, Rameau opera scores, suspiciously-shaped puzzle paraphernalia, etc.) with a nonchalant brush of his tail.
Totally uninterested in dwelling on the past, Quincy has moved forward. He's tail-tapping to Miles Davis when "Oleo" comes over the radio, and tending to administrative matters, such as . . .
. . . looking up his name in the dictionary . . . (it should be there, between QUINCUNX and QUINDECILLION) . . .
. . . and proofreading the words that begin with "Q" . . .
. . . and engaging in restorative power naps. (50 minutes out of every hour are spent in repose.)
That's Quincy. He's helping with the puzzles from now on. And though I'm surprised to learn that QUINCY appears only once in Jim Horne's database of NYT puzzles . . . it feels as though he's been a member of the family -- cruciverbal and otherwise -- for a long time. Welcome home, buddy!