"The answer is NO!!! Now, what did you want?!"
Gatos © Priya Tuli
It's a funny thing. Wherever I go, I seem to be a magnet for cats, dogs, 25 year olds, 86 year olds, refugee kids begging for money...and every single fruitcake within a 25,000 mile radius. But more on that later. I'm convinced it's either karmic, or to do with my aura.
Either way, despite regular aura-cleansing baths with Dead Sea Salts, incense burning rituals that last 3 hours a day and lighting enough candles to be declared a fire hazard by the local Anti-Arson Committee, my magnetic field is in full form thank you. To the extent I am currently harbouring 3 fruitcakes on my premises (okay two, if you don't count me), and another homeless kitten wandered in a couple of days ago. That brings the tally to 7 felines; soon, I shall have to move out of this house to to a bigger one.
Unfortunately, there is no known cure for my particular affliction. Though somebody recently told me there's a local shaman-type person (they're called 'dukun' in Indonesia) who lives in a cave in Central Java, and has had great success with curing people of all sorts of stuff, including hair growing on the palms of their hands. Which, as I'm sure you know, is the first sign of madness; the second sign of course, is what you're doing right now...checking your palms for signs of hair.
To get back to the cat in the picture, though, I assumed he'd respond to Gatos, being a Greek cat and all. There he was, perched on this pillar in Santorini, sunning himself. Lucky feline, to actually LIVE here! And I'd just bust up several month's worth of savings on my air fare just to get here! Ah, the little injustices of life...
Gatos had seen at least a decade, and was savvy enough to recognize, when I walked by, that a meal might possibly be forth- coming. Animals have a sixth sense for this sort of thing; they can spot a sucker from a mile.
Well, actually, I confess I'm guilty here. I did stop to talk to him for a moment, and since I was heading to the taverna next door for lunch, he must have intuited it. Or maybe it was just that dratted aura again. Whatever, he hopped off his sunning-spot and followed me. He made all the usual friendly overtures...mewing persuasively and rubbing his head against my leg, which I fell for like a ton of bricks as usual, and which also ensured him an order of fresh calamari. The taverna owner was obviously an old friend of his, too, because he got a side-order of some scraps of souvlaki as well. A proper 2-course meal! And he didn't even have to pay for it! Wottaluckycattski!
I ordered my usual saganaki and xorta, washed down with an ouzo. The guy at the next table leaned across and started up one of those "hello, where you from, how long you going to be here" type conversations. Innocuous enough, I thought, 2 tourists exchanging pleasantries, he seemed a nice friendly sort.
But hey ho...what's this?! 3 minutes into the conversation I realize I'm way out of my depth here...having exhausted his 20 words of English, our man has lapsed into his native Outer Congolese and is starting to get a tad excited. His monologue is now punctuated with a long, shuddering sob every few minutes, and he keeps shoving a hand at me, palm side up. I obligingly take a quick look at it. Clean palm, no hairs.
His agitation quotient is clearly rising, I observe, and my befuddlement grows exponentially. He's still talking at me, and his tone is now decidedly unfriendly. I shrug, and throw up both my hands in a gesture meaning, "Sorry, pal, I don't get you." This seems to trip his circuit. He is now yelling loudly, and suddenly pushes his chair back, grabs up his backpack and storms out. Whoaaa!!! Wotdidido?!
The owner of the taverna grins across at me, tapping his head with an index finger, then describing a clockwise circular motion in the air next to his ear, in the universal gesture for crazies. "Trelos!," he says, laughing. "Drugs, maybe!", he adds as an afterthought. Ahhh, I get it! I had been fraternizing with a junkie, and the outstretched hand was not a request to read his fortune or to check for signs of insanity; he was just trying to get me to finance his next fix!
Oh well okay, I thought to myself, that's Fruitcake of the Day over and done with. Next one that tries it, I'm just going to have to say "No, NOT today!!! It's my day OFF!" Come on, Gatos! Let's get outta here!
Either way, despite regular aura-cleansing baths with Dead Sea Salts, incense burning rituals that last 3 hours a day and lighting enough candles to be declared a fire hazard by the local Anti-Arson Committee, my magnetic field is in full form thank you. To the extent I am currently harbouring 3 fruitcakes on my premises (okay two, if you don't count me), and another homeless kitten wandered in a couple of days ago. That brings the tally to 7 felines; soon, I shall have to move out of this house to to a bigger one.
Unfortunately, there is no known cure for my particular affliction. Though somebody recently told me there's a local shaman-type person (they're called 'dukun' in Indonesia) who lives in a cave in Central Java, and has had great success with curing people of all sorts of stuff, including hair growing on the palms of their hands. Which, as I'm sure you know, is the first sign of madness; the second sign of course, is what you're doing right now...checking your palms for signs of hair.
To get back to the cat in the picture, though, I assumed he'd respond to Gatos, being a Greek cat and all. There he was, perched on this pillar in Santorini, sunning himself. Lucky feline, to actually LIVE here! And I'd just bust up several month's worth of savings on my air fare just to get here! Ah, the little injustices of life...
Gatos had seen at least a decade, and was savvy enough to recognize, when I walked by, that a meal might possibly be forth- coming. Animals have a sixth sense for this sort of thing; they can spot a sucker from a mile.
Well, actually, I confess I'm guilty here. I did stop to talk to him for a moment, and since I was heading to the taverna next door for lunch, he must have intuited it. Or maybe it was just that dratted aura again. Whatever, he hopped off his sunning-spot and followed me. He made all the usual friendly overtures...mewing persuasively and rubbing his head against my leg, which I fell for like a ton of bricks as usual, and which also ensured him an order of fresh calamari. The taverna owner was obviously an old friend of his, too, because he got a side-order of some scraps of souvlaki as well. A proper 2-course meal! And he didn't even have to pay for it! Wottaluckycattski!
I ordered my usual saganaki and xorta, washed down with an ouzo. The guy at the next table leaned across and started up one of those "hello, where you from, how long you going to be here" type conversations. Innocuous enough, I thought, 2 tourists exchanging pleasantries, he seemed a nice friendly sort.
But hey ho...what's this?! 3 minutes into the conversation I realize I'm way out of my depth here...having exhausted his 20 words of English, our man has lapsed into his native Outer Congolese and is starting to get a tad excited. His monologue is now punctuated with a long, shuddering sob every few minutes, and he keeps shoving a hand at me, palm side up. I obligingly take a quick look at it. Clean palm, no hairs.
His agitation quotient is clearly rising, I observe, and my befuddlement grows exponentially. He's still talking at me, and his tone is now decidedly unfriendly. I shrug, and throw up both my hands in a gesture meaning, "Sorry, pal, I don't get you." This seems to trip his circuit. He is now yelling loudly, and suddenly pushes his chair back, grabs up his backpack and storms out. Whoaaa!!! Wotdidido?!
The owner of the taverna grins across at me, tapping his head with an index finger, then describing a clockwise circular motion in the air next to his ear, in the universal gesture for crazies. "Trelos!," he says, laughing. "Drugs, maybe!", he adds as an afterthought. Ahhh, I get it! I had been fraternizing with a junkie, and the outstretched hand was not a request to read his fortune or to check for signs of insanity; he was just trying to get me to finance his next fix!
Oh well okay, I thought to myself, that's Fruitcake of the Day over and done with. Next one that tries it, I'm just going to have to say "No, NOT today!!! It's my day OFF!" Come on, Gatos! Let's get outta here!
posted by Priya Tuli at
1:30 am
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