Call me meow meow.

           Cats are cats; by any other name, they act like cats only. There are plenty of cats down the streets, and interestingly, a dictionary defines cats as an animal popular in the Middle East and Africa. Cats are usually very photogenic, and our archives have plenty of such pictures. But this one is not seen around here; he behaves as if he owns all the land and is in charge of the welfare of the entire neighborhood. I didn’t care either. Our neighbors Yahya and Jawahir are avid feline philanthropists feeding all the cats around with store-bought cat feed. She has set up a few labor rooms for cats to give birth and for maternity care. She doesn’t mind the thankless demeanor for which cats are notorious.

I sat on a stack of hollow bricks listening to an audiobook, Nature Fix by Florence Williams. I usually enjoy doing so during summer nights after strolling down the deserted driveway well-lit by a tall lamppost down the street yet to be called by that name. He, too, showed up from nowhere and sat by me, commanding control and authority on me. I had trouble reading his look clearly, but he settled down gracefully. I kept listening. After some time, he stood up with his tail held high and ears kept alert. The corner had obstructed my view of what he had his eye set on. Then he dashed to a few rocky boulders heaped around on the other side of the street in haste. I got up, driven by curiosity, only to see a street dog with a well-manicured medium white coat approaching.

The dog read my face and took a detour to access the other road leading to the neighbor’s house two blocks across. My face must not have been looking friendly. No sooner did the dog disappear than the cat took the spotlight and continued lying in the middle of the street as though nothing had happened. What a brilliant little, cute, four-legged, versatile gymnast you are!