The cat lies out on the sidewalk in front of the house, on the other side of the bambu-lined gates of what would be the carport, if we used the front patio as a parking space. Instead, my car is on the street, and the patio is filled with plants. In fact, it is over-filled until whenever it is the workmen return and finish constructing the third floor and we can move some plants back upstairs.
The cat, Wuichol is a beautiful, august tabby, old and mostly blind. I adopted him when Veronica, who lived here for seven years before me, sorrowfully left him behind when she went back to Chile in mid-July. Of course, Wuichol was sorry, too. A move to Chile would have been very hard on him. And here, in his familiar environment, he is able to get around by memory, sixth-sense and whatever vision he has left.
He spends his days coming and going quite freely though the office window, lounging in the sun and shade among the patio plants and passing under the front gate into the wider world. You wouldn't even know that he is visually impaired, except that he bumps into things when they are left in a new place, and relies on smell to detect other cats.
Wuichol is the alpha cat of the neighborhood, still territorial, fighting all comers (usually at night). The dogs, impressed by his coolness, leave him alone. And, if all does go to hell, he retreats under my car. He is a fixture of the neighborhood, regal and orange, patrolling his (now shrunken?) domain or placidly spread out upon the sidewalk.
A year ago, he became very ill. With his urethra blocked by crystals formed in his bladder, he was unable to urinate. Although the poor cat was in pain and it looked dire, the problem was relieved, first temporarily, by a catheterization, and then, a week later, permanently, by another catheterization and a new, medical diet. So it was with some anxiety that, last week when I went out front, I saw him halfway through a generous pile of cat food that some neighbor had lovingly left for him upon the sidewalk. We posted a sign:
Also last week, noticing that my supply of Wuichol's special cat food was running low, I went, on my daily bicycle ride, to the store on Cinco de mayo to get more. But there was none. On Thursday I was told that it would arrive "mañana." On Friday mid-afternoon I was told it would arrive "later today." Then receiving a message that it was in, I stopped again at the pet food store on Saturday morning.
My only regularly scheduled activities outside the house are on Saturday morning when I visit the TOSMA market and then drive from there to Sabbath services at synagogue. Coming from the pet food store frustrated in my usual short term parking strategy, I wound up leaving my car in what might have been a legal space just above Parque Juárez.
Thus, I found myself walking down calle Guadiana separated from the park by only a low hedge, on the other side of which, strolling very slowly just inside the park on the lawn, speaking on her cellphone, was a young, attractive, well-dressed woman. Just as I passed, only an arm's length from her, I heard a very distinct quack.
I should have stopped then and there. As it was, I did halt when moments later I noticed that the young, attractive, well-dressed woman had ended her call and was now walking down the sidewalk, a half dozen steps behind me with a rather large white duck balanced on her forearm. When she caught up, I said good morning and told her a story as we continued on together:
When I was a boy we lived in suburbia, but mother was a country person. Our house had a big, grassy backyard. There, in a wire pen, we kept two mallard ducklings for a while. A few years later, looking out a back window one morning, we saw, splashing around in a small puddle of rain, two adult ducks. Our pets had returned home.
The woman, who was also going to TOSMA, thanked me for a lovely story, and told me that people ask her what she would do if her duck flew away. She seemed very philosophical about it; "nature is wild." I assured her that her duck knows where home is, adding that if she were in my home, I would never leave. She thanked me very sweetly.
Moments later, inside the busy market, after I told her that I wanted to publish an article about her duck, she took some pains, with it still perched calmly on her forearm, to send me her contact. (I didn't have my phone.) So, stay tuned for that, I hope.
Then, speaking of birds, my noisy neighbor across the street was recently given a rooster, a beautiful black bird. He has informed me that I should be happy about the gift since, because the rooster is early to bed and rise, my neighbor has had to change his own schedule, and so will no longer be blaring his ranchero music late into the night. And I am happy because so far that has been the case.
Of course, it remains to be seen how much earlier in the day the music might start. Still, the nighttime noise was the worst of it, with him drunk (often since mid-afternoon), playing video games online with his far-away friends, often until well after midnight. And I am also happy because, gracias a Dios, so far the rooster isn't inclined to crow.
I published an article, "The Perfumes of Observance" two weeks ago that mentioned a shortage of black cats and roosters in Mexico because those are sacrificed to Santa Muerte in black magic rituals. (I'm told that black dogs are also persecuted, with stones thrown at them.) And I suspect, superstitions abounding, that the rooster's color was the reason it was gifted to my neighbor. So far, the bird is holding his own against the neighborhood cats, none of whom is black. And right now, I'm hoping that he stays around.
Wuichol, the cat whom I adopted when Veronica left two months ago, has only recently adopted me. I wasn't very good at it at first; he did not stay more than a few minutes in my lap if I continued tapping away at this keyboard. But recently, I've gotten better and I have won him over.
In the morning, or when he comes in through his window from outside, especially if he asks for affection by meowing or rubbing up against my leg, I get up and pick him up, embracing him against my chest, walking around the house and singing to him, for as long as I can keep him purring, which is quite a while when I get a hand free to stroke his head and neck.
Duck, rooster or cat, we are transformed by the love that we feel for the pets whom we have adopted. Now, if only we would adopt each other, and if I could adopt myself.
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Dr. David Fialkoff praticed homeopathy and natural medicine as a licensed naturopathic doctor for 25 years. Now he is engaged in healing society: building community and strengthening the local economy by fostering local internet. "Facebook and Google make their money by selling ads next to our content. We can make our own social network and search engine for our own local community, and keep the profits circulating here in San Miguel."
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