City life is fast, loud, and crowded — a place where nature sometimes feels like an afterthought. As a landscape architect specializing in urban greening, I’ve spent years fighting for parks, greenways, rooftop gardens, and tiny patches of wildness across New York City. But despite all the technical skills, data, and design plans I’ve gathered, two unlikely teachers gave me some of my most profound lessons about urban biodiversity: my rescue cats, Ash and Willow.
This is the story of how two small creatures opened my eyes even wider to the wonder — and fragility — of life in the city.
Meeting Ash and Willow
Ash and Willow entered my life during one of the busiest periods of my career. I was deep in the middle of designing a major green corridor in Brooklyn — balancing tight deadlines, bureaucratic red tape, and the usual stress that comes with large-scale urban projects. My partner, Alex, an urban planner passionate about sustainability, had been gently nudging me for months to consider adopting pets.
One rainy Sunday, we walked into a local animal shelter just “to look.” Of course, we didn’t leave empty-handed. Ash, a scrappy gray tabby with endless curiosity, locked eyes with me from across the room. Willow, a soft calico with a calm and knowing presence, curled up immediately in Alex’s lap. There was no question — they were coming home with us.
What I didn’t realize then was that these two little creatures would end up influencing how I thought about my work, my city, and the interconnectedness of all living things.
Observing Tiny Ecosystems at Home
Watching Ash and Willow adjust to our apartment was like observing the introduction of a species into a new habitat. Ash immediately launched into “exploration mode,” inspecting every nook and cranny, testing the balance of the houseplants (often with less-than-perfect results), and finding hidden spots to claim as his territory. Willow, on the other hand, moved cautiously, studying the environment before settling into her preferred sunny windowsill.
Their different strategies mirrored the behaviors of species in urban ecosystems. Some animals — like raccoons and pigeons — are bold and opportunistic, thriving in the chaos of the city. Others — like certain songbirds or butterflies — are more sensitive, finding quiet corners to survive.
Through them, I saw a microcosm of urban biodiversity right in my living room. It reminded me that successful urban ecosystems aren’t just about planting trees or creating green roofs. They’re about creating a variety of spaces — from wild, tangled corners to sunny open fields — that different species can call home.
The Importance of Refuge
Ash’s favorite spot quickly became the thick cluster of plants we had by the south-facing windows. He would disappear into the greenery for hours, hidden and content. Willow loved a protected perch above our bookshelf, where she could survey the apartment without being disturbed.
Their behavior made me think about the importance of refuge in urban design. In cities, green spaces often emphasize openness — lawns, plazas, and wide trails. But many creatures, like small birds, insects, and even mammals, need thick, safe spaces where they can hide from predators and rest undisturbed.
This realization pushed me, Dennis Pappas, to reconsider some of my design practices. It’s not enough to create beautiful, visible green areas. We need pockets of dense, messy, layered habitat where urban wildlife can find sanctuary — just like Ash and Willow sought out their cozy hiding places at home.
Respecting the Invisible Players
One afternoon, I caught Ash staring intently at a tiny spider weaving its web in the corner of our balcony garden. Instead of pouncing, he simply watched, fascinated, as the spider worked methodically. Willow eventually joined him, and the two sat side by side, captivated by the delicate process.
It struck me then how often we overlook the “invisible players” in our urban ecosystems — the insects, fungi, and microorganisms that quietly sustain life. In landscape architecture, it’s tempting to focus on the big, visible parts: trees, flowers, sweeping lawns. But biodiversity depends heavily on the small, often unseen species that pollinate, decompose, and maintain the balance of nature.
From that moment, I committed to incorporating more habitat for these unseen heroes in my designs — like deadwood piles for insects, native flowering plants for pollinators, and undisturbed soil patches for underground life.
Rediscovering Joy in Small Moments
Living and working in New York City can sometimes make you numb. There’s so much happening all the time that it’s easy to lose sight of small wonders. But Ash and Willow never let a bird flying past the window, a new smell from a neighbor’s balcony, or a patch of afternoon sunlight go unnoticed.
Their ability to find fascination and joy in tiny, everyday moments reminded me why I fell in love with landscape architecture in the first place. It’s about creating opportunities for wonder — for people and for wildlife. A pocket park between two skyscrapers, a flowering vine growing up a fire escape, a rooftop meadow buzzing with bees — these moments matter.
Working as a senior landscape architect at GreenScape NYC, I’ve often said that “every green space is a chance to breathe new life into the city.” But thanks to Ash and Willow, that phrase has taken on an even deeper meaning. It’s not just about breathing life into the city; it’s about celebrating and protecting all the small lives that make up our shared urban world.
Lessons That Last
Ash and Willow have taught me that biodiversity isn’t an abstract concept reserved for national parks or faraway forests. It’s right here — in our backyards, on our rooftops, along our sidewalks, and even inside our homes. Protecting it means thinking small as well as big, messy as well as beautiful, hidden as well as visible.
Their lessons have made me a better designer, a more attentive urban dweller, and, frankly, a more grateful human being. They remind me daily that we are not alone in the city — that we are part of a vibrant, breathing, interconnected web of life.
And maybe, just maybe, if we design with that in mind, our cities will become not just places to live — but places to truly thrive.
