Shouf

So after complaining incessantly about the fact that neither of the care packages that I am still waiting to receive (things are slow around Ramadan) one of my housemates suggested that I tramp down to the post office and ask them.

So I put on my balto and headscarf which I have taken to wearing (and the harassment as miraculously disappeared) and started the hike down to the Hadda post office. Ramadan hours: 8-10PM. I got there and was told that I need to take an even longer pilgrimage to the post office down by the old University. My frustration at initially going to the wrong place was trumped by my pride that I actually knew where this place was and I started off again.

Half an hour later I made it. The homeless beggar women outside the office doubled as an information booth and they waved to me to where I needed to go. Not that they knew what I wanted, but I have come to learn that most people here have limited physic abilities. Once inside, I was faced with something that looked like the scene from "It's a Wonderful Life" where the bank is out of cash and people are screaming for their money. Tons of Yemenis were standing in front of the counter waving pieces of paper over their heads and screaming. It was pretty terrifying. I slunk unnoticed along the wall feeling that my attempts to blend in were putting me at a strong disadvantage for once. I stood in a different line which held the appeal that there were only three people in it, and none of them were screaming. The man behind the counter took my PO box number and vanished, giving me a spark of hope which was quickly dashed when he came back ten minutes later smelling of cigarettes and told me the dreaded words "mafeesh." (Nothing.)

Demoralized and depressed, I decided to walk back. It was a nice night and since I had planned to spend the evening playing with the contents of care packages I had nothing to do anyway. I was about three-quarters of the way home when a little brown cat walked up and rubbed against my legs.

I leaned down and pet the little gold and black striped six-month-old cutie, and picked it up. Most of the cats around here are terrified of people and would never allow this, which made me suspect that he belonged to someone else. So normally, I would never have done what I did-- which was to keep walking and take him home-- was it not for something that happened about a month ago.

A month ago I was walking to work when a black and white cat leaped in my path and meowed at me. I pet him and he followed me to work. On the way home, he was back. I started to bring cat food for him and we became good friends. I called him Ninja, and I didn't take him home simply because I assumed that this cat must have an owner. A few days later Ninja didn't show up, and I was worried that something had happened to him. My fears were answered a few days after that when I found Ninja's body dumped unceremoniously in a garbage heap. He had a hole in his stomach-- I don't think that he was hit by a car.

So holding Shouf in a busy and non-residential area, I couldn't help but remember Ninja, covered with flies in a pile of rotting food and old scraps of shoes. To my credit, I did stand there for a few minutes waiting for someone to come running out asking what I was doing with their cat. When this didn't happen I walked home. (I also went back the next day and wandered around looking for someone looking for cat.) Shouf didn't complain once during the walk, sitting in my arms like he'd been born there. In my bedroom, he took a quick sniff around and then curled up in my lap and fell asleep.

He's adorable and just what I really needed right now. Quiet, clean, friendly and affectionate-- he reminds me of Kiki, my Samoan cat who died suddenly in my arms at just one year old. I mean, I shouldn't be surprised by that-- a cat is obviously going to remind me of another cat, plus Kiki was hardly quiet. But I couldn't help but feel that I didn't find Shouf, he found me.