Saleh bin Fawzan al-Fawzan, a lead cleric in the Saudi Council of Senior Scholars, was recently aghast to hear that Arabs are taking selfies together with cats. He declared that it was ‘prohibited’ to take such pictures: “not with cats, not with dogs, not with wolves, not with anything.”
Let us hope that the noble sheikh doesn’t start a Facebook page, for he would be appalled by the profusion of people hugging and caressing dogs and cats, though perhaps not wolves. I recall seeing photographs of people in proximity of elephants and tigers, and of Britney Spears cavorting publicly with an oversized python.
Let us hope that the noble sheikh doesn’t start a Facebook page, for he would be appalled by the profusion of people hugging and caressing dogs and cats, though perhaps not wolves. I recall seeing photographs of people in proximity of elephants and tigers, and of Britney Spears cavorting publicly with an oversized python.
I grew up in India and respectfully observed a Sanskrit couplet that advises you to stay ten yards from horses, a hundred yards from horned creatures and a thousand yards from lions and tigers. I have to confess that I could not observe the last part of couplet which tells you to totally vacate the area where there is ‘an ill-principled person.’ Having had the kind of bosses I had, I would have to quit all the jobs I ever had.
No great animal lover, I have always maintained a safe distance from dogs and cats, let alone snakes of any kind. Now suddenly I find myself in a curious situation. My daughter, Lina, has left on a European cruise, leaving her pet cat, Sancho, with me.
No great animal lover, I have always maintained a safe distance from dogs and cats, let alone snakes of any kind. Now suddenly I find myself in a curious situation. My daughter, Lina, has left on a European cruise, leaving her pet cat, Sancho, with me.
Sancho is a furry little creature who has so far displayed no great mistrust of me. Admittedly, the first day he disappeared from sight, taking refuge in some splendidly cozy, imperceptible corner of my cluttered townhouse, but by dinner time he had revised his dubious view and came tiptoeing to savor his meal. I am no great cook, but Lina, fully aware of her dad’s culinary skill, has left behind a large cache of cans for Sancho. As the dispenser of their content, I seem to have gained some acceptance in Sancho’s eyes.
That alone can explain his conduct the second day onward. First, he came meowing at my closed bedroom door at daybreak. I usually work and write well past midnight, and seldom see dawn. Clearly that had to change with my new guest. Sancho can be quite insistent. It was not enough for him that I opened my eyes; I had to get up and open the French window to the large deck, admittedly with a cup of coffee in my hand, so that Sancho could refresh himself in the morning air.
That alone can explain his conduct the second day onward. First, he came meowing at my closed bedroom door at daybreak. I usually work and write well past midnight, and seldom see dawn. Clearly that had to change with my new guest. Sancho can be quite insistent. It was not enough for him that I opened my eyes; I had to get up and open the French window to the large deck, admittedly with a cup of coffee in my hand, so that Sancho could refresh himself in the morning air.
The deck opens up to a wide-open space, studded by trees and shrubs, and you get the feeling you are sitting in a garden. That possibly pleases Sancho, for the moment I take a seat there he leaps on to another chair and stretches himself in an evident gesture of pleasure. I feel guilty to leave him behind and return to my desk. I have started carrying my laptop to the deck and working there until the battery runs out.
By now, Sancho follows me everywhere in a perplexing show of loyalty. Given half a chance he would even follow me into the shower. When I sit and write at the desk, he places his front paw on the chair and lets me know that he is keeping me company. When I sit at the dining table and eat, he sits on the carpet and wags his tail to remind me that he is still keeping me company, despite my gaucherie in not sharing my meal with him. I might have imagined that, compared to a dog, a cat would be an unsuitably small companion. But I have realized that its smallness gives it a special edge: it can not only walk next to me on a narrow stairway, it can virtually weave in and out of my legs.
By now, Sancho follows me everywhere in a perplexing show of loyalty. Given half a chance he would even follow me into the shower. When I sit and write at the desk, he places his front paw on the chair and lets me know that he is keeping me company. When I sit at the dining table and eat, he sits on the carpet and wags his tail to remind me that he is still keeping me company, despite my gaucherie in not sharing my meal with him. I might have imagined that, compared to a dog, a cat would be an unsuitably small companion. But I have realized that its smallness gives it a special edge: it can not only walk next to me on a narrow stairway, it can virtually weave in and out of my legs.
The best part of a feline companion is its unobtrusiveness. Sancho is content to look after himself when I am busy or I am out; it is just as content to saunter close to me when I am ready to pay attention to him. What amazes me is the peaceful way it sits and meditates, hour after hour, while I attend to my chores, without the slightest sense of impatience and boredom. Sancho may enjoy my company, but he is happy to be on his own. In his peculiar cat-like way, he seems possessed of the earthy wit with which Miguel de Cervantes equipped Don Quixote’s sidekick. I wish I could imbibe his curious sense of contentment.
I will miss Sancho when Lina returns to retrieve him.
I will miss Sancho when Lina returns to retrieve him.
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