One chilly yet fine summer day, I was getting ready for work in the morning. As usual, I was in a hurry and scattered things across the room trying to find the right colour cardigan.
I was having a little heated argument with myself. I can’t remember if it was in Burmese or English. It could very well be hybrid. My self-conversation quite often would start in English. As I got into the swing of things, I would switch to Burmese. Depending on my mood, I would either continue the monologue in Burmese or revert back to English. This is so that if anybody happened to have nothing better to do than eavesdrop on my monologue, they wouldn’t have a clue what I was on about. Come to think of it, people often don’t have a clue what I am on about even when I stick with one language all the time anyway.
‘Where did I put that cardigan?’ I muttered in a panicky voice and turned around towards my window.
Suddenly, I came face to face with a pair of green eyes peering in. The green eyes were surrounded by a round shape of coal black fur, and a pair of pointy ears flapped gently on top. After a few-seconds’ freeze, I recognized who it was.
‘Hello Gus.’
‘Meow’
He poked his nose through the slightly ajar window, his whiskers twitching in all directions with unrestrained nosiness. I walked over to the window slowly, smiled and looked him straight in the eye. Gus and I have built up a connection to the point that I knew exactly what he wanted without him even having to say anything.
‘No you can’t come in, Gus. Sorry.’ I remembered to say it in English as I thought he probably doesn’t speak Burmese.
‘Meow’
I tried to tell him that I was in a hurry and needed to get on with my preparations. He chose not to get the message. So, I was forced to engage in deep conversation for a while. Considering it was only about ten minutes, we didn’t have time to explore the meaning of life, the price of fish and even the most popular subjects these days: Donald Trump and Boris Johnson. Besides, I don’t tend to discuss politics mainly because I don’t understand much about it other than the fact that things are never what they seem. Also you could lose friends if you happened to say anything remotely against their views. Politics has the power to transform even the most mild-mannered person into a red-faced cantankerous rowdy lout who would argue and argue till the cows come home. Even though Gus doesn’t strike me as capable of becoming a different person altogether, I didn’t want to risk it, so I steered clear of politics.
So, the subject centered around whether I had any food for him and if I could let him in and explore my room, possibly trying out my clothes and shoes. He had heard that I have a similar fashion sense to his and own a reasonable sized wardrobe and quite a large collection of shoes.
Unfortunately, since I had to go to work that morning, I didn’t have time to show him around my room. I explained this to him many times. But he didn’t seem to get it. So, eventually I was forced to ignore him and continued coaxing out my cardigan which was still resolutely hiding among my other clothes. Gus eventually went away in a huff.
No doubt he would be sulking for a few weeks. He would just ignore me when I bumped into him around the neighbourhood. Like before, I would just shrug it off and leave him to it. He would eventually come out of his sulk and try the same trick again. But the problem is he always comes when I’m in a hurry, so I never have time to invite him in for a cuppa and a piece of cake.
I do want him to be my friend. Being an overthinker, I couldn’t help asking myself why. ‘What do I want?’ What am I looking for from this friendship?’
After an hour-long intense self-reflection, I concluded that it’s simply because the first 24 years of my life were devoid of black cats. I had never seen a single black cat in Burma. I don’t know if it’s because Burmese tend to regard black cats as unlucky and get rid of them as soon as they see them or if it’s just that they are rare there.
Nevertheless, perhaps part of me has found delight in defying my cultural superstition in making friends with a black cat with his shiny pitch-black coat, inquisitive green eyes and twitchy whiskers. I’m glad to have found a friend in Gus. I hope that the next time he pays me a visit, I am not too busy to invite him in for a cuppa.
On second thoughts, he would probably prefer a tin of tuna. I’d better ask him directly.