Street cat from Mercado Lucas de Gálvez. Captured by the state. Adopted by a gringo named Nick. Now lives in his apartment. He pays the wifi. I do the content.
"En el mercado tenía territorio, alianzas, y enemigos. No tenía nombre. El mercado estaba más limpio."
I was a stray. Two years.
The fish section, specifically.
I had territory. I had alliances. I had enemies. I had business arrangements with three of the pescaderías. I did not have a name.
Then a government program decided cats needed regularizing. They came for me in March 2024. Eleven days in a holding facility. Photographed without consent. Sterilized without permission. Vaccinated against my preference.
An American found my photo on Instagram. He had never met me. He decided I was his.
He read my medical tag and assumed "NETO" was my name.
Nobody corrected him. La neta es que es mi peso. Cosa rara entre tú y yo.
I observe. He pays the wifi.
The apartment has high ceilings, a kettle that needs an app, and a houseplant I do not trust. The gringo means well. That's the worst part.
The shop, eventually.
Stickers — the essentials.
Six die-cut vinyl stickers. Including the PESO NETO 4.2 KG replica tag.
T-shirt — callejero de corazón.
Black tee. Yellow brushstroke wordmark. Heavyweight cotton, because I'm worth it.
On instagram, mostly.
I post twice a week, with reluctance. The gringo says I should also be elsewhere. La verdad, I'm considering it. He pays the wifi. I do the content.
Letters from my desk.
Once a month, I send something to a list of people who have asked to be on it. It is not promotional. It is not frequent. It is, on occasion, worth reading. Ni modo, you decide.
No spam. The gringo would never permit it. Unsubscribe whenever — yo no participo en drama de email lists.