There is no catwalk at the annual cat fashion show at the Algonquin Hotel. The cat models— “mewdels,” as the placards in front of them read—were mostly stationary, arranged on a circle of tables in the Oak Room, just off the main hotel lobby. The event has been thrown since the 1930s, in honor of the Algonquin’s official cat-in-residence, Matilda. (The feline of honor, the third Matilda in the hotel’s history, is not a fan of the commotion, and could not be coaxed out of hiding to greet her guests.) This year’s sold-out show benefited the animal-welfare nonprofit the Mayor’s Alliance for NYC’s Animals, in addition to paying tribute to New York City’s first responders. Accordingly, each cat was outfitted as a different civil servant.
A cat dressed in an M.T.A. uniform lolled in front of his food bowl, and a Persian in a tiny fireman’s hat snoozed next to a neighbor dressed as a paramedic. Cami, a rescue representing the nurses of New York, reclined near a stethoscope with a small, clear plastic cone around her neck, which was practical, not aesthetic. “I don’t think it interferes with the look,” said her owner Desiree Berman.
For the past three years, all the costumes in the show have been carefully designed and put together by Ada Nieves, an F.I.T.–certified pet fashion designer, who began working in the world of animal couture after designing replica Oscar gowns for her chihuahuas in 2007. Nieves begins working on the costumes for the cats six months before the show. Many of the pieces are hand-painted and require detailed work, like the cat-size policeman’s hat and a tiny doctor’s coat with a trompe l’oeil fish skeleton hanging out of the pocket. She also hand-selected the cat models for the show. “I’m always on the lookout for the felines,” Nieves said. “I go do house visits to see if the cat has the temperament to be around crowds, how relaxed they are. But I think every cat is beautiful.”
Nieves flitted from table to table, greeting the cat handlers and cooing over their feline companions. A few of the cats were first-timers: Toaster, a white, long-hair in a water-repellent FEMA jacket, cowered in his carrier. “I don’t think he’s too into this,” said Cody Rasmussen, who had adopted Toaster in February. “He modeled one other time, and he gently—what’s the word?—bit the other model.”
Others, like tabby cat Tigger, dressed in an N.Y.P.D. uniform, were pros. This was Tigger’s third time at the Algonquin show, and he had recently filmed a commercial that required him to learn how to skateboard. According to handler Karen Frewert, it took him two weeks. She also handled Priscilla, a kitten sporting a Girl Scouts sash. “She’s being groomed to be the next supermodel of the [cat] world,” Frewert revealed.
The crowd, cat enthusiasts peppered with N.Y.P.D. officers, mingled in the lobby over Matilda-themed cocktails and platters of hors d’oeuvres balanced on stacked cat-food cans. Fans stopped to pet and pose with the models, to the cats’ indifference. In the corner, a woman in a cat belt, leopard stockings, and slippers with cat faces, cooed at the F.D.N.Y.–styled Persian, Zeus, who she pulled into her lap. A sign identified her as Carole Wilbourn, “the founding mother of cat psychology” and a reiki practitioner for pets. She comes every year as a kind of backstage assistant to soothe the nerves of stressed-out cats. “I work with cats and cat families to resolve their issues,” Wilbourn explained, cuing up some whale songs on her iPad to serenade Zeus. “I try to appeal to all cat senses: hearing, touch, taste, you know. My thing is to see everyone happy.” A gaggle of admirers pressed in to snap his photo, as Zeus yawned, and a photographer in the corner admitted that he might be a tad allergic. It was another purrfect party.
