Sometimes you have to leave the cat.
I’ve been going back and forth to Portugal since 2016. I fell in love with this country and bought a house here in 2018. Was it largely a result of the 2016 election? Yes, yes it was.
I decided to start bringing my kids in the summers so that they could put down roots, learn the language, and make friends, in anticipation of the upcoming implosion of our home country.
Our house is in a small village in Central Portugal. There are literally 10 full-time residents. To say that we stand out is an understatement: the American woman and her 3 very loud children. But the neighbors are sweet and they tolerate us as we stumble through their language. They are mostly very poor retirees, who have inherited their homes from family members. One of them learned enough English to tell my daughter that she is a “beautiful princess.” We like them.
For the past 2 years there’s been a stray cat in my village. Last year we didn’t think much of him. He’s a stray and there are lots of strays in Portugal. But this year, we were there longer, and we fell in love. The kids named him: “Prince.” We fed him and loved up on him and treated him for ticks. The kids asked if we could keep him and I said: “No.” Then, through a series of unfortunate events, we got stuck in Portugal. Long story but the kids missed the start of school and it screwed us. By the time we got back to the States they’d missed a month of school. It wasn’t good.
My oldest daughter had been offered a spot in an elite acting school in Lisbon so I knew we could possibly come back and hang out in Lisbon. Portuguese schools start later, (than our August 1st monstrosity.) So, I made the decision to come back to Portugal and put my little kids in a “forest school,” and my big kid into acting school.
We had to live near Lisbon but, of course, we spent weekends at our mountain house. It’s a stone house and it’s terribly cold. We reconnected with our “Prince,” and fed him and let him sleep in our house. This time when the kids asked for the cat, I caved. I told them “Yes,” that we could take the cat back to the US. We bought a cat carrier, and a cat harness,and made appointments with a vet. I bought the cat a plane ticket, as one does.
I’ve gotten to be good friends with a British lady in my neighboring town. She said: “You know you’re gonna need to ask your neighbors if you can take the cat, right? They might not want you to.” “Oh,” I said. That thought had never crossed my mind. As I thought about it I realized that she was right. The cat was fat. I just assumed that the neighbors all threw food at him but maybe he meant more. Nah! It was probably fine but I’d ask just in case.
We got to the village and asked. Most of the neighbors said that it was fine, but that we should ask Juvinale. I think that’s how you spell his name. We called him: “Juvenile” for the first 2 years. You know, like the rapper who sings “Back that azz up”? It’s more like “Jubnal.” Anyway, he said “No.” I was pretty sure, anyway. It sounded like he said: “Nao, el es minha compania.” The translation would be: “No, he is my company!” But maybe I misunderstood….surely this dude doesn’t care about a stray cat, right?
My daughter has gotten to be friends with the same British friend’s daughter. She goes to a local school and speaks Portuguese. So, we waited until she came over. She asked Juvinale: “Can Yvonne have the cat?” He apparently said yes. So, the kids came running over to my house screaming and jumping up and down about our new aquisition. I said: “Are you sure? It sounded to me like he said ‘no.’” She didn’t know. So, we all walked over, together, to my sweet neighbor’s house. He said that we could have the cat, but as he spoke, tears streamed from his eyes. I noticed that his eyes were red, as if he’d been crying for awhile. I felt so incredibly small. He told the Portuguese-speaking child that it would make him happy if we took good care of the cat. Then he said: “He’s a good cat.” More tears. I walked away feeling like the biggest heel on the planet.
I went home and cried and cried. I just assumed that I could give the cat a good home-one that was free of parasites and included vet visits. But, with my priviledge, it didn’t occur to me that this fat cat had a home. I selfishly wanted those chubby cheeks all to myself.
My daughter came by. I said, through tears: “We cannot take this cat.” She said: “I know, Mom.” I walked out and told him that we’d decided not to take the cat. He looked relieved. I still felt awful. Of course the kids were disappointed. I was sad, too. I love this cat. A lot. He’s so chonky and squishy and cuddly.
But, part of being a good immigrant in a country is realizing that not everything is yours. As a member of a class of people who are infinitely more priviledged, financially, we can’t just grab everything. I mean, we can, but it’s shitty. I could have taken the cat from the poor, old man. But…….God. These people in my village have so little. This man lost his wife to Alzheimer’s. He’s alone. He’s got friends in our village but it’s hard for him. To take the cat would have been terrible.
So, as I sat with our “Prince” on the night before we left for good, I cuddled him and scratched his squishy cheeks. I left my neighbor with cat food and flea and tick meds, as our way of helping out. I hope it didn’t make my neighbor feel badly to accept that from us.
I fell in love with a cat, but that cat isn’t mine. He belongs to Portugal.
