Yes, really. Homicide was a police cat.
In January 1934, a large black cat with piercing green eyes sauntered into the bustling headquarters. No one knew where he came from, but he carried himself with the confidence of a seasoned detective. This grand Beaux-Arts building, with its marble halls and endless corridors, was the perfect beat for an aspiring police cat.
But Homicide’s arrival caused a bit of drama. You see, he wasn’t the first cat on the force. Until that day, a black and orange tiger-striped cat named Arson had been in charge of mouse patrol. The moment Homicide clocked in for duty, Arson reportedly ran down the front steps and was never seen again.
The thousand or so cops at headquarters didn’t exactly mourn his departure. While Arson loved the job, he wasn't very good at it. He was more of a Keystone Cat—loud, clumsy, and completely ineffective. The mice could hear him coming from a mile away. He never made a single “collar.”
“And that’s why we called him Arson,” Lieutenant James R. Smith told The New York Times. “He was all burned up because he never caught a mouse.”
Homicide, on the other hand, was a natural. He was light on his feet and took his work very seriously. Every night at 6 p.m., he began his patrol, meticulously covering every floor from the basement holding cells to the domed roof. He had a deep respect for the rules, often taking his catnaps right on top of the official Police Rules and Regulations book.
His dedication was unmatched. If Homicide came across a locked door, he wouldn’t just give up like his predecessor. Instead, he’d let out his best “police whistle” meow until a sergeant came to let him in so he could inspect the room. This cat missed nothing.
The Arrest of a Lifetime
One hot July night, Homicide was making his usual rounds in the cellar, where a few prisoners were dozing in their cells. He spotted what he deemed a particularly dangerous mouse hole and took his position, patient and silent.
When the furry perpetrator finally emerged, Homicide pounced. He captured the good-sized mouse, but he didn't dispatch his prisoner on the spot. This was an official arrest.
With the struggling mouse firmly in his jaws, Homicide sprinted up the stairs, down the first-floor corridor, and leaped onto the main desk where Lieutenant Smith was working. He dropped the exhausted perp right on the desk blotter, gave the lieutenant a sharp nod—a feline salute—and then immediately ran back to the basement to continue his beat.
Lieutenant Smith was floored. "I’ve seen them come and go, in my time, but never before a cat that brings ‘em back alive and books ‘em," he told reporters. "I’m recommending a citation for an extra ration of liver. Homicide’s a first-grade cat, from now on.”
From Precinct to Palace
The building where Homicide made his famous collar is as legendary as he is. Opened in 1909, the Police Headquarters at 240 Centre Street was the nerve center of the NYPD for over 60 years. The department eventually moved to a new, much less glamorous building near the Brooklyn Bridge in 1973.
For years, the old headquarters sat empty. Finally, in the 1980s, it was transformed into the "Police Building Apartments," one of the most exclusive and stunning residences in the city. Now, instead of cops and cats, its halls are home to celebrities and wealthy New Yorkers who pay millions for a piece of this history.
While the interior has been completely renovated to create 55 luxury condos, the breathtaking lobby has been beautifully preserved. Residents enjoy a 24-hour doorman, a private garden, and a fitness center—amenities that poor Arson and Homicide could only dream of.
But there’s one final, charming detail. Pets are still welcome at 240 Centre Street.
So, next time you’re exploring downtown, take a detour to the corner of Centre and Grand. Look up at that glorious dome and picture a dedicated black cat named Homicide, making his rounds and keeping the city safe, one mouse at a time.
