For many years in Costa Rica I lived on the side of a mountain in a small house with a yard carved out of the southwest corner of what used to be a working coffee farm. Beyond the banana trees was a pasture for cows and a tomato field that eventually rose up into a mountainside I never got tired of looking at. One day, a small black and white cat appeared who loved my yard but didn't like me. It was almost cartoonish the frenzy with which, upon my entrance to the yard, he would leap up, stunned, gather himself, and take off with a burst of speed that made me think he was part leopard. But this was no regular cat—as I came to find out later, and for some reason I got it into my head that I could tame him. I set out food daily, moving it closer to my back door, and in time, he would allow me to look out the window while he ate. Then, to actually stand motionless in the open doorway. Long months passed this way. Then one day, I coaxed him with a fat, shiny sardine, and when he grabbed it from my fingers, I reached out and ran my hand along his back. The sensation was pure electricity. I could feel the shockwaves emanating outward from his brain urging him to flee, but it was also matched by his deep longing to be touched. Quickly and quietly we made an agreement as he arched his back, against all instinct, allowing himself to be touched and petted. And just like that, I went inside and he followed me. He casually sniffed every corner of my house, then jumped up into my lap, making me think that perhaps he wasn’t feral, that maybe he had been around people, and was thoughtlessly abandoned on the road leading to my house. Daily, I rubbed antibiotic cream into the bald spots where he had no fur and in time it slowly grew back. He soon was sleek and healthy. Due to his black and white coloring, I named him Vaca—Spanish for cow, and on that day began a ritual that continued all the days I knew him. Whenever I came home, whether it was at the usual time or very late at night, he would always be waiting at the gate to greet me. He never missed a day, and even when I went on trips, no matter how long, when I returned and opened the gate, there he would be. Cab drivers that I used placed bets on whether Vaca would be waiting, and they would always be amazed, because he always was, and some of them opened the door to pet him, which he tolerated, but the minute I unlocked the gate, he was like—later pal, and was right there beside me, following me as a dog would. He followed me everywhere, even to the small grocery store down the street, hiding and waiting until I came out, then falling into step right beside me. I told my friends many stories about the cat and when I would see them, they would often impatiently inquire as to how I was doing, being polite, but I knew they were way more interested in how Vaca was doing. He was always bringing me cat gifts. Dead animals, bugs and plundered garbage, a yellow and purple birthday party cone hat. One time he dragged home a rat one and a half times his size, all bloody from battle and was insufferable the whole week following, prancing around and staring at me as if to say, “I’d like to see you do that.” But mostly, he would look at me, beaming out such adoration and love, glad in his whole being to be near me, beside me, on the same planet with me. No matter how much I fed him, he was always in the neighbor’s garbage, which they good-naturedly tolerated. Then one day I was told that Vaca had broken into a birdcage and eaten my neighbor’s parakeet, caught red-handed. I think my neighbor put out a contract on Vaca, because soon after he disappeared. Or maybe it was the hawks and eagles that were always riding the thermals above my house. I convinced myself that he went walkabout, and this is what I told my friends. When cab drivers dropped me off at the gate, they always looked around for Vaca—hoping . . . then, emitting an existential sigh, put their cabs in gear and drove back into a world of nobody cares. One day I was coming around a corner of my house and ran smack into a startled black and white cat. I yelled, “Vaca!” The cat took off, then stopped and considered me. It was younger but looked like an exact clone of my missing friend. Vaca’s son, or perhaps a daughter. It didn’t seem to fear me. Maybe through Vaca’s DNA it was programmed to trust the tall stranger who tossed sardines about and played his sad guitar songs to the moon, and in the days that followed, I set about doing whatever I could to live up to this trust. But it never grew as close to me as Vaca did. It remained sociable but aloof, independent. I respected that, turned my attentions elsewhere, thought briefly about getting a dog, then moved away. I wanted to tell the tale of my black and white friend as a way of letting it be known, as we move into the rest of the story, that I love animals, never hurt, harm or mistreat them, but sometimes, out of what I call journalistic curiosity, here in China, I regularly sample, for the sake of experience, things I’d never thought or dreamed I would consume. While I have seen cats in China—on leashes, in cages, hanging around stores, dive-bombing trashcans, I have never knowingly eaten one, nor have I seen them offered in restaurants. Yes, they are eaten here, and I will get into that more later. But in my neighborhood, it has been discovered there is a restaurant that buys, sells and serves dog meat. Part 2 of this post will be a report on a visit to this establishment, testing my mettle as an open-minded enthusiast, or a kind of Anthony Bourdain lite. Will I actually eat it? Would you? I welcome your comments. Right now, I'm listening to bad song radio under frozen blue stars.
2 Comments
Mary
12/5/2012 06:26:53 am
Oh M what a great story about Vaca I didn't know you had a cat how beautiful is that I don't know if I can read part 2 because I have a dog who waits for me like Vaca so that might be hard to read I have to catch up on all your diaries I miss them I have been out of touch so so sorry. It is Godiva time of year so it keeps me busy love you and miss you love your diaries m
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moonmadman
12/5/2012 10:34:49 pm
I LOVE cats (but I've never been able to finish one)...
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