Here on the village farm in the food chain or pecking order cats are above dogs and below chickens. They are just barnyard animals that are tolerated only because they kill mice and insects. Insects are part of their diet, and they snatch about at all crawling jumping creature and snack on them. Cat seem an irritant to be tolerated as the have some purpose in the farms eco system. Feral and starving they cry incessantly and always underfoot begging for food. A swift kick clears the path.
When I arrived at my home there were two young kittens. Skittish little things that had been summer sport for the visiting girls (aged two and four). With no toys for diversion the cats became their entertainment. They chased the cats screeching and flailing. Thwarted in their efforts to catch them the girls would find sticks and play a game of cricket using the cat as their ball. Wisely the kittens took cover and usually were the victors in “Let Get the Cat”.
The cats had two very different personalities. The tabby was the whiner who was relentless in his complaints about his hardscrabble life. If one tried to temper his fate with affection he would bolt, thinking we humans just giant versions of the tormenting girls. The sib was more affable and forgiving taunting patiently with her cat charms, brushing near a leg for a cuddle. She much more accepting of her destiny rarely went begging or fussing. Homily all spattered black and white so perhaps she compensated with personality.
Like the summer girls with little to engage me about the house and being I was preverbal like them I found myself interested in these cats.
They became my farmyard entertainment and perhaps a touchstone to my own isolation. Many a night before in my life a cats purr had balmed me.
I waited out the sweeter cat and when she skimmed by I seized her. (This is never done by adults here as the have a rational fear of fleas.) I got her. It felt like a big catch. I just held tight, tighter till she settled. I patted her a bit. She seemed to want more than food; she wanted the ever-illusive nutrient “love”.
She purred. Thus began the courtship.
I saved bits of scraps from dinner and fed her. She had appeared frail, seemed to have some barnyard ailment or perhaps due to her life style a failure to thrive.
She fatted up and became sprightly. She curried favor with the household by just being in their midst without complaint. They began to abide her being about.
She disowned her cat mother and began to follow me about like the little lamb that went to school with Mary.
I called her Mitzi as it sounded like the Georgian word Mets, which means mine.
Somehow I had acquired guardianship. If I had a sit she would join me, sublimely finding a moment to ease up to my lap. All in the household became aware of this cat.
The village chats about the teacher and her cat. Now folk joke and tease me asking if I am taking her with me to America?
On cold nights she sneaks into my room and does not even purr just all quiet so I do not ban her from my quarters. Having no heat her little cat fur seems some comfort.
As one must with love I must ask myself some tough questions. My questions about Mitzi mirror what I ask my self as I begin towards the climax of my time here. Did I make a mistake with this cat? Did I take it in only to abandon it? (Or have I just been a meteor in the life of this village, an autumn diversion to distract from life’s more pressing issues.) The cat reminds me of the student Luka a high functioning special needs boy who follows me around the school carrying my bags. He was also hungry, just to know how to hold a scissor and how to draw a circle and for someone to remind him to wash his hands.
He all all messy with a runny nose but has blue eyes that shine like the sea that glistens in the distance. Intuiting my frustration due to language barriers he often steps in and directs the other students in their native tongue. “Dagit! Chumy”, (sit, quiet) says Luka with great authority.
Every day when the school gate clang announces my arrival this boy runs to greet me.
As I type this cat is laying parallel to my body.
The cat will live, but will he thrive? Will Luka get kicked out of class being an irritant as he is so desperate for intervention he never quiets?
I will not know the endings or answers to these haunting questions. What happens when I walk away from this land, this boy, this cat?
I have hope that on winter nights when Maya rest weary and alone on the couch near the fading heat of wood burning stove that Mitzi will nestle near. I hope that Maya (who I have secretly witnessed sneaking food to Mitzi) just pets her a bit and that this loving little cat makes Maya forget her loneliness the way she made me forget mine.
And Luka, having been clearly my favorite I hope retains some status. And if not I just hope like hell that he believes a little more in love and Luka.
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