\Well, there comes a point in every single girl’s life when
she realizes she’s been living alone for too long. History has proven that this void and
emptiness can be replaced only by a single species. Yes, beloved friends and
family, I have adopted a cat.
Its name is Artimus (I say “it”, because I’m really not sure
of its gender yet, but for the purpose of writing, I will use the pronoun “she”).
She’s mostly black with some patches of brown, a white foot and a permanent
white patch of hair to resemble a milk mustache on only the left half of its
upper lip.
Arti, as I call her for short, had a hell of an adventure
getting to my abode. A fellow PCV gave her to me because his cat had had
kittens. To transport Arti out of his village, he put her in a box that had the
area of a shoe box, but with a long length and long width, and about a 2 inch
height, so the cat couldn’t stand up. Also, the PCV was afraid of not being
able to catch her, so he did so over 12 hours prior to delivering the package
to my banking town. Needless to say, Arti was a little pissy when I finally
opened the box.
Unfortunately, Arti also had to stay in the guesti in the
banking town for 2 nights before heading to site in which she lived in the
bathroom.
The second night, the fear of the first trip had worn off
and Arti cried. And cried. And cried. And cried. For over 5 straight hours
beginning at 10:30pm, that cat cried, meowed, hollered, screamed and whimpered
like she was being beaten and abandoned all at once.
Eventually, I couldn’t take it and decided to move her (or
“Demon Cat” as I was calling her at this point) outside for the remainder of
the night so I could get a few hours of sleep.
When I went to check on her in the morning, I learned that an employee at the guesti had opened the box and let the cat out because it was crying. Naturally, I was upset and asked them to help me look for her.
We found Arti in a long, cement drainage pipe that ran under
a patio, so we shoved a stick inside to run the cat out. She finally fled and
after chasing and cornering her in a bathroom stall, we got her.
I then packed my things up including Arti and headed to the
market to grab some produce before returning to my village. While in the
market, a few 2 year old boys were curious as to what was crying inside the
basket. While I was distracted bartering for oranges, the boys lifted the
basket lid and Arti, that trixy cat, fled again. I told the mamas in the market
I would pay them to help me catch the cat. After numerous scratches, screams
and attempts, Arti made her way back into the basket yet again.
I boarded the bus, cat in lap, and Arti of course cried the
entire bus ride home (sorry Tanzanians).
After all the adventures, we made it home safely and Arti is
learning the ropes around her new stomping grounds.
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| Artimus, laying in her bed of choice- a bag of charcoal |
This cat has proven to be more trouble than shes worth at this point, so hopefully she will make up for it with her mice-hunting abilities. Here’s hopin.
