Cat Country

My heart breaks when I see him. He tip toes gingerly around our table at the Jemma el Fna outdoor cafe, stops to look if we may shush him away. His fur is messy. The black part looks faded, the white part looks dirty. His eyes are cautious and unfriendly. There is a little scratch on his nose. I am not sure if it's from a fight with other cats or from a sharp object hitting him. I talk to him gently and gives him the chicken wing from my plate.

There are so many homeless cats or maybe just outdoor cats in Morocco, I am tempted to call this a Country of Cats. Unlike the sleek looking well-fed lazy cats in America, these cats are slim, jumpy and all look like survivors.

I have a born instinct to stop on the street if I encounter a cat. In Morocco, Srini stops so many times in the souks, on the sidewalk, outside our Riad to wait for my futile attempt to pet the cats. Every time I get disappointed because they are way too scared to come close to me, let alone let me pet them. I've seen cats, mom and kittens, attacking a pile of garbage to find the chicken bones covered below. I feel terrible.

photo left: note the little one at the corner of the snack store in the Jemma el Fna souks


The thinking cat at Jardin Majorelle is one of the lucky ones. She has beautiful smooth fur and seems to have a full stomach. Otherwise she would be looking for food instead of enjoying the scenery. Jardin Majorelle is a private garden. I guess she must be the owner's cat and lucky her, the huge vibrant garden is her own playground.
photo right: reflecting pool, Jardin Majorelle, Marrakech

Finally in the Merzuga Village, I get my first and last chance to pet a kitten. He's so skinny, I feel his little bones. He meows a couple times in an indiscernible voice when I stroke his forehead and then he starts purring. I feel the vibration under my palm and the warmth from his tiny body. He looks so content, it instantly warms my heart.