Living in Thailand there have been many things that I miss from home. Good beer, the knowledge that, yes, there will be toilet paper and soap in a public restroom, cheese, the non-existence of squat toilets, drinkable tap water, speaking the same language, vegetables. And what I wouldn’t give for an everything bagel with cream cheese. But also, I miss my cats.
Thailand is full of stray animals just ripe for the petting. But with the exception of two local strays, you will not see me petting a stray dog. Devoid of much in the way of personality or affection, stray dogs do little to pique my interest. They bark. They eat. They sleep a lot. Sometimes people put collars on them. End of story. Cats, however, are another matter entirely.
Fewer in number (although possibly just smaller than dogs), stray cats have become my Thailand hobby. As far as I can tell, the Thais don’t seem to pet cats; cats are merely a nuisance. Even the ones who appear to live in one place with one family do not get what I would consider pet treatment. Where is the love? Where is the anthropomorphizing? Why no cuddling? Clearly, in my two-minute love fest with each and every stray cat, it is my job to give them the lifetime of affection that they have been lacking. I’m sure I often look like the tourist equivalent to a crazy cat lady.
I pet them all. The resident Petchaburi guesthouse feline is welcome to lounge on the vacant chair at our table as we drink our beer with ice and plan the next day’s events. I moon over the pathetic kitten in Laos, mangled stub tail all akimbo, singed fur covered in street grime, purring in my lap as I eat my meal. And let’s not forget Koh Tao’s dolled-up “ladycat,” stunning blue eyebrows and vibrant rouged cheeks courtesy of the bored ladyboys working at 7-eleven. But no Thai cat has caused me as much strife as Kitten.
Kitten. Tiny, starving Kitten. Originally part of a trio of cats that congregated in our backyard around meal times looking for leftovers --- Momma Cat, Daddy Cat, and Kitten --- Kitten remained behind as the other two moved on. Three cats had been good, but I was satisfied with only one. And Kitten looked like she needed an extra helping of love. Unfortunately, Kitten was an asshole.
We fed kitten daily. Put a little pile of food on the wall surrounding our yard whenever kitten was around. Put out a bowl of water.
What was our reward?
Nothing.
Kitten was loud and whiny. She would scream and hiss if we walked into the backyard. The slightest movement evoked low, guttural meows and additional hissing. Once our backs were turned she would slink over to wolf down the food, not stopping to chew, before retreating back to the farthest reaches of the yard. We even realized as Kitten got older that she is, in fact, a boy. But applying a masculine pronoun to such a whiny creature felt wrong, so Kitten is still a “she” to us.
Aside from the devil cat trapped in our neighbors’ backyard, which once a month would climb the chain link fence, claws hooked, to stare out at us and make the terrifying sounds of a wailing banshee, the neighborhood was lacking in alternatives. Kitten had to pass as my Thai pet. Four months and we could only get within a foot of Kitten. This is supposed to be progress.
But then, it started raining cats.
First came Orange Cat. Tiny, striped face peering down at us over the neighbor’s rain gutter, she gingerly spoke up. Kitten gave Orange Cat the royal treatment previously reserved only for her human feeding machines, but Orange Cat was unfazed. On a mission for love, food, and possibly a place to give birth, she marched straight past Kitten’s defiant yowls and showered us with affection.
The next day, Daddy Cat, lured back from wafting aromas as we made Cup O Noodles at our outdoor, single-burner stove, boldly sauntered straight through the backdoor and into the kitchen.
The message has dot-dashed its way along the feline wires: The farang teachers feed cats. Kitten lounges on the wall at a safe distance. Daddy Cat sniffs his way around the yard. Orange Cat curls around her round belly waiting for us realize that this is her new home. Even Banshee makes the occasional, blood-curdling appearance, screaming in heat at confused Daddy Cat. And with the shake of a bag, my Thai pets come running.
