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Al-Ahram Weekly 13 - 19 May 1999 Issue No. 429 
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Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Al-Ahram Weekly 13 - 19 May 1999 Issue No. 429
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| Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Egypt Region International Economy Opinion Culture Profile Features Books Travel Living Sports People Time Out Chronicles Cartoons Letters Veni, vidi, vici
By Fayza Hassan
Not many of my friends like cats. Their feelings span the gamut between slight distaste and downright hostility. They apologise by explaining that felines are known to have totally unpredictable mood swings. "You can never tell what a cat is up to," they say. I totally disagree. I think that the problem is with my friends, who don't bother to read the signs.
Rescued from a certain death, Nagat was small enough to sit in the palm of the hand when we brought her home. She was a very ugly cat, black, scrawny and generally lacking grace, with a ridiculously long, thin tail that impeded her movements; but there was fire in her piercing green eyes. She also had the firm intention of staying on, and was prepared to do what it took to achieve her goal.
Her first move was to ingratiate herself with the old Siamese who sleeps permanently on my bed. She approached him cautiously, gently wiggling her hind parts at him whenever he descended from his reserved domain for a drink of water and a visit to his litter. At first, the old dear showed disdainful indifference, making it clear that he had seen much better sights in his days. Within a few hours, however, she had attracted his attention enough to be allowed onto the bed next to him, where she lay quietly, barely breathing. Some time later, she was sleeping on his back, growling menacingly whenever he attempted to displace himself.
"He can't be made to suffer this embarrassment in his old age," I finally decided angrily one day as I observed the black kitten sneakily -- and rather viciously -- biting his neck. He had been a proud cat once. We therefore moved Nagat to another part of the apartment, where she had to contend with a collection of foundlings like herself. She immediately sized up the situation and, without hesitation, rolled onto her back, giving the other cats an ample chance to sniff her to their hearts content. They must have liked what they smelled, because a friendship was struck up on the spot.
Peace reigned for a couple of months, only interrupted by some innocent rough play in the dead of night. During one of these scuffles, however, Nagat must have offended one of the females in the group, because it soon became obvious that these two were not talking. They sat at opposite corners and glared at each other, stifling a throaty growl that turned into a shrill wail if we did not intervene at once, showering them with cat biscuits. The other cats looked on, apparently strangers to the conflict, but there was excitement in the air. They also enjoyed the frequent, unexpected treats.
Nagat's contender had a supporter in the pack, a shy, shaggy creature with long face hair and myopic hazel eyes. He seemed to do battle on her behalf and while she sat, queen-like, on her tail, he was sent in to tackle the enemy. Nagat, on the other hand, was also quite obviously soft on him and I suspect that the whole problem stemmed from a rivalry between the two females. Nagat fought him half-heartedly and we became accustomed to watch them go at each other for a while, then make up and lie peacefully on the same chair.
At this point something mysterious must have taken place that unfortunately we did not witness. I woke up one morning to find the coveted male crouching behind my door, looking quite crestfallen. Nagat stood proudly beside him. Since everyone partook in a hearty breakfast, I gave no more thought to the incident until my daughter commented that the male's spirits seemed broken.
A cursory examination showed nothing unusual. "Look," said my daughter, "He has no whiskers and no eyebrows. They have been cut off." At this point Nagat suddenly looked up. She gazed at us and I am sure that there was mockery in her eyes. Was I imagining things, or did she snicker? I was going to mention it to my daughter but checked myself on second thought. At my age such remarks can be misinterpreted.
Strangely, the male has now attached himself to Nagat while his jilted former companion walks past the new couple constantly, raising her head high, in flamenco style, then purposely looks the other way.
