Al-Ahram Weekly On-line 21 - 27 September 2000 Issue No. 500
Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875

	Egypt Elections Development Region International Economy Opinion Culture Features Special Travel Living Sports Profile People Time Out Chronicles Cartoons Letters

Fall from grace

By Fayza Hassan

Happy and Mohi are animal lovers, but, more importantly, they are very partial to Chinchilla cats. These days they are the proud owners of a certain number of felines; they refuse to disclose the exact figure in order to ward off the evil eye. A few weeks ago, the couple and their charges were taking advantage of the last days of summer in Agami, relaxing together in the enclosed garden of their quaint cottage where we went to visit them.

New kittens had been born, and the most adorable among them was offered as a valued gift to my sister, who was obviously drooling over the little ball of grey fluff but was still hesitant at the idea of the added responsibility. I had been asked along to admire the prospective new addition to the family. Needless to say, it was love at first sight; the still nameless kitten did its very best to entertain us, batting at mosquitoes and falling clumsily over its own paws while in hot pursuit of a large moth; then, disappointed at its lack of success, it briskly trotted toward us and stared at Happy with its incredibly innocent blue eyes, as if to question the reasons for its dismal failure. The older cats, two or three of them, looked on sedately, unimpressed by the antics of the newcomer. Happy herself seemed to be having second thoughts: did she really want to give her baby away? "She is too young now. We'll talk about it when her mother stops feeding her," she told my sister. Both women seem pleased by this postponement.

Happy and I compare notes and veterinary services but I am careful never to place my own strays' exploits in direct competition with the accomplishments of her noble brood lest I hurt her pride in her pure-bred felines. I am nevertheless dying to point out that the baladi cat is generally known to be much more intelligent and resourceful than any pedigreed variety. Instead, I mention the rooms in my large apartment that I have had to surrender in order to accommodate my ever-increasing horde; I could have had an extra study, I explain, a third bathroom, a larger laundry... Happy has gone much further, though: she has abandoned a whole apartment in coveted Zamalek for the love of her cats:

"We had just moved into this new apartment," she recounts, "and the cats were still not used to the strange surroundings. Pucci" -- at the sound of his name, one of the cats lazily lounging on a table nearby raises his head and stares intently at his mistress -- "was living in our bedroom, refusing to venture out except for a brief visit to the kitchen at mealtime. One day, I came back from an errand and found my bedroom window wide open and Pucci nowhere in sight. I asked the maid if she had seen him, but she could not recall catching sight of him that day. 'Then he must have fallen out of the window,' I told her, my heart sinking at the possibility. The woman, well aware of my feelings for my cats, must have been terrified at the prospect of what would happen to her if Pucci had in fact fallen from the fifth-floor window she had forgotten to shut. I ran out of the flat and she followed me, beating her breast and screaming 'he's fallen out the window, please help me God, he's falling out the window.' Our apartment overlooked an embassy set in a large garden, and this is where I headed, convinced that, if Pucci was hurt but still alive, he would have sought refuge there, in the shrubbery. Meanwhile, the servant's screams had attracted a number of onlookers from the neighbourhood, who followed us, repeating, 'he's fallen out the window.' Now, everyone knew that only two people had moved into the apartment and the only male they could think of who could have fallen out the window was Mohi. By the time we reached the embassy, they had changed their cry to 'the bey has fallen out of the window,' which prompted the embassy guards to let us in with no questions asked. It is in front of a bewildered gallery (augmented by the curious guards, of course), that I began to crawl under the greenery, calling -- to the onlookers' consternation -- 'Puss, puss, puss.'

"I eventually heard poor Pucci meowing pitifully. He was crouching by the fence, licking his broken paw. I picked him up and carried him home, talking to him soothingly and covering him with kisses. Soon the vet arrived and Pucci's paw was put in a cast. He recovered in no time, but from that day on, I felt strange glances following me every time I left the apartment. I became convinced that it would be a good idea to move out as soon as possible. Anyway, I did not really like living in Zamalek."

	weeklyweb@ahram.org.eg