I meet crazy expat cat ladies and cat-sit 'Miles'
By Emily Ford |
July 30, 2012, Monday
|
Print Edition
Print Edition
IT'S a warm Tuesday night in Shanghai and I'm going on a blind date with a cat.
It's not how I usually spend my evenings, but when two friends asked me to look after their cat, Miles, while they went on holiday, I was so flattered to be considered trustworthy enough that I said yes.
First they wanted me to meet Miles over dinner, to check that we'd get along.
Unlike sentimental Brits and Americans who treat pets better than their children, China is not known for its love of animals, unless they're stir-fried. Even the Mandarin word for animal is dongwu, or "moving thing."
Strangely though, the international community in Shanghai has the highest level of cat ownership I've ever experienced, a group of mainly women who refer to themselves as the crazy cat ladies. One girl I know has six.
When I go to meet Miles, a former street cat that my friend rescued years before and the recipient of the most love I've ever seen lavished on an animal, I am petrified. Miles has already rejected one potential suitor.
"It seemed OK, but after a day he was going crazy," my friend says. "He had to come back."
I don't mention that my mum has forbidden me from getting a cat because she thinks it will be too difficult for me to look after. My anxiety is not helped when my friend tells me about a hamster that tragically passed away on her watch.
"They only live for 18 months and this one was old," she says sadly. "But it was horrible. Its eyes were all crusted over. There was nothing we could do."
Date with a cat
The date does not start well. As I enter the house, Miles takes one look at me and skulks off into the kitchen. "They usually at least say hello," I think, stung. "It's not like I expect him to pay for dinner or anything."
That evening I make conversation but all I can think about is whether the cat and I are getting along. At one point I pretend to go to the bathroom and give him a sly stroke, but Miles appears distinctly uninterested.
"We're just not compatible," I think resignedly. "It obviously wasn't meant to be."
By the end of the evening, however, things are going better. I catch Miles throwing a few coy glances in my direction and realize I have passed.
A few days later, a little ball of fur is delivered to my house, complete with biscuits and poop-a-scoop.
The next morning
The next morning I wake up and feel almost excited. Cohabiting is a new experience for me.
"My first day with a cat!" I think.
"Miles!" I shout. "Miles!" There is no answer. "He's probably just sleeping," I think. "But where?"
At 8am I begin to look for Miles. By 8:30am, I am in a state of blind panic. The cat is nowhere to be found. Shaking, I search in every corner and cranny, then search again.
With a sense of thudding dread, I notice that the bathroom window is slightly ajar.
Cats are not supposed to hurl themselves from high buildings, but Miles' days as a street-smart kitten are behind him and my friend has explicitly warned me to keep the windows closed.
"Oh god," I think. "Oh god." I look out the window and make out a small dark shadow on the ground below.
A range of alarming possibilities creeps into my mind, culminating with Shanghai's crazy cat ladies hounding me out of the city for neglect.
I stand frozen for a good five minutes, until I hear a small rustling noise coming from the bedroom.
I peek my head round the door and see Miles lounging, blissfully in my bed.
"Miaow" he says, with princely authority.
"Miaow."
It's not how I usually spend my evenings, but when two friends asked me to look after their cat, Miles, while they went on holiday, I was so flattered to be considered trustworthy enough that I said yes.
First they wanted me to meet Miles over dinner, to check that we'd get along.
Unlike sentimental Brits and Americans who treat pets better than their children, China is not known for its love of animals, unless they're stir-fried. Even the Mandarin word for animal is dongwu, or "moving thing."
Strangely though, the international community in Shanghai has the highest level of cat ownership I've ever experienced, a group of mainly women who refer to themselves as the crazy cat ladies. One girl I know has six.
When I go to meet Miles, a former street cat that my friend rescued years before and the recipient of the most love I've ever seen lavished on an animal, I am petrified. Miles has already rejected one potential suitor.
"It seemed OK, but after a day he was going crazy," my friend says. "He had to come back."
I don't mention that my mum has forbidden me from getting a cat because she thinks it will be too difficult for me to look after. My anxiety is not helped when my friend tells me about a hamster that tragically passed away on her watch.
"They only live for 18 months and this one was old," she says sadly. "But it was horrible. Its eyes were all crusted over. There was nothing we could do."
Date with a cat
The date does not start well. As I enter the house, Miles takes one look at me and skulks off into the kitchen. "They usually at least say hello," I think, stung. "It's not like I expect him to pay for dinner or anything."
That evening I make conversation but all I can think about is whether the cat and I are getting along. At one point I pretend to go to the bathroom and give him a sly stroke, but Miles appears distinctly uninterested.
"We're just not compatible," I think resignedly. "It obviously wasn't meant to be."
By the end of the evening, however, things are going better. I catch Miles throwing a few coy glances in my direction and realize I have passed.
A few days later, a little ball of fur is delivered to my house, complete with biscuits and poop-a-scoop.
The next morning
The next morning I wake up and feel almost excited. Cohabiting is a new experience for me.
"My first day with a cat!" I think.
"Miles!" I shout. "Miles!" There is no answer. "He's probably just sleeping," I think. "But where?"
At 8am I begin to look for Miles. By 8:30am, I am in a state of blind panic. The cat is nowhere to be found. Shaking, I search in every corner and cranny, then search again.
With a sense of thudding dread, I notice that the bathroom window is slightly ajar.
Cats are not supposed to hurl themselves from high buildings, but Miles' days as a street-smart kitten are behind him and my friend has explicitly warned me to keep the windows closed.
"Oh god," I think. "Oh god." I look out the window and make out a small dark shadow on the ground below.
A range of alarming possibilities creeps into my mind, culminating with Shanghai's crazy cat ladies hounding me out of the city for neglect.
I stand frozen for a good five minutes, until I hear a small rustling noise coming from the bedroom.
I peek my head round the door and see Miles lounging, blissfully in my bed.
"Miaow" he says, with princely authority.
"Miaow."
- About Us
- |
- Terms of Use
- |
-
RSS - |
- Privacy Policy
- |
- Contact Us
- |
- Shanghai Call Center: 962288
- |
- Tip-off hotline: 52920043
- 沪ICP证：沪ICP备05050403号-1
- |
- 互联网新闻信息服务许可证：31120180004
- |
- 网络视听许可证：0909346
- |
- 广播电视节目制作许可证：沪字第354号
- |
- 增值电信业务经营许可证：沪B2-20120012
Copyright © 1999- Shanghai Daily. All rights reserved.Preferably viewed with Internet Explorer 8 or newer browsers.
