Chapter 7 #2
He didn’t approach, concerned they would all leave if he did. Looking around, Francis noticed several ceramic dishes on the paving stones, all lined up in a row. The dishes were nearly all licked clean, with two cats eating what was left on the last dish.
Somebody had recently put these dishes of food out for the cats. That was nice.
“The service is good around here, eh?” Francis said.
The cats ignored him, so Francis slowly made his way to the edge of the pond. A couple of cats nearby darted off, but once Francis sat down and remained still, the cats returned to stare at him.
“No, I don’t have any food, I’m afraid,” Francis told them. “Looks like you’ve already had your breakfast.”
More cats approached him now. Clearly the trick was to sit down. Probably they felt less threatened.
Francis hoped they would come closer. He could wait. He was patient and had no plans to be anywhere else.
“Hello,” he murmured, offering out his hand again to a fluffy white cat.
This one sniffed his fingers then butted her head up against his hand.
Francis suppressed a little gasp. He’d petted a cat! Today was already a good day.
Now the ice was broken, more cats came over to him for pets. One even crawled onto his lap and started purring; a medium hair, light ginger cat with the faintest of stripes.
“Well, aren’t you handsome?” Francis told him, tickling the cat’s chin and neck. “Yes, very handsome.”
The cat purred, rumbling happily.
Francis, too, felt very happy. His first cuddle with a cat.
“What a handsome cat you are,” Francis said.
“He is Aslan,” someone said in German.
Francis turned to look at the source of the deep voice with a strong accent.
“It means lion,” the man explained. He stood at a gap in the hedge, watching Francis. He had brown skin, and wore delicate white robes, light and breezy, much like the ones Francis had on.
On his head was a simple turban of white, under which his long dark hair had been swept up and gathered.
Francis had no idea who this good-looking stranger was.
He glanced down to take note of the stranger’s shoes, as that was often an indicator of someone’s position, but this man was barefoot. His brown feet were clean, the skin was soft, and the nails were short and well kept.
That alone spoke volumes. Probably someone with time on his hands, whose every body part was taken care of.
Someone fairly important, then.
Upon looking back up, Francis noted that the man had a small furry passenger in his robes: cradling a black and white kitten like a new-born baby.
“Is that a kitten?” Francis asked, momentarily forgetting himself. “Oh, forgive me, I…” He made to get up, erring on the side of caution and intending to greet this man properly.
The cat on his lap refused to move, and the man waved at Francis to remain where he was.
“Do not disturb Aslan, please,” he said, humour lacing his words. “Sit. Sit.”
Francis settled back down, Aslan firmly lodged in his lap.
“Thank you,” Francis replied. “I do hope I’m not intruding?”
The stranger gestured at the cats with his free arm. “This is their garden.”
That didn’t quite answer his question, but Francis smiled anyway. His sunburnt cheeks smarted with the movement, and Francis winced softly.
The stranger sat himself down next to Francis with a grunt-cum-sigh, adjusting the kitten lounging in his robes. “Ay, ay, ay.” He turned to observe Francis with a frown. “Hm,” he grunted. “Günes yani?isin.”
“I’m sorry?” Francis said.
“You are kissed from the sun,” the stranger explained.
“Oh. Yes.” Francis needn’t have worried about flushing red, he knew his face was already pink.
“We have the, uh…” The man made a circular motion near his face. “A crème? To help.”
“Oh, yes, I think they gave me some last night,” Francis said. “This will clear up in a day or so. Thank you.”
The stranger nodded.
They regarded each other in silence, with Francis wondering how he should deal with this situation.
Perhaps this fellow was the cat caretaker? Or, given how his eyes looked familiar, perhaps he was a relation to King Omar?
Francis studied the handsome face in front of him for as long as he dared. Fuller than the portrait of the king, older too. But the eyes were similar. Maybe an older sibling, or cousin.
“I’m sorry,” Francis told him. “Are you…?”
“Nobody,” the man replied quickly. “I feed the cats.”
“Oh, I see,” Francis said, suspecting this wasn’t quite true. Perhaps this family member, whoever he was, wanted a quiet, anonymous life.
Francis could understand that.
“They look happy,” Francis said, still tickling the large Aslan in his lap. He couldn’t help but notice again how adorable the kitten lounging in the man’s robes was. “How old is the kitten?”
“Three months,” he said proudly, lowering his head to place a kiss atop the kitten’s head. “Masallah.” The kitten bopped her fluffy head against the man’s bearded chin. “This one became unwell,” he explained. “We had to take her and nurse her. Feed from bottle.”
“Oh, dear,” Francis said. “She’s on the mend, I hope?”
The stranger hummed, busy giving the kitten head scritches.
Francis wasn’t sure if he’d understood the question. He’d have to use clearer language.
“I wish your kitten good health,” he added.
This made the man smile, and he replied something in his own language.
Francis wasn’t sure what he’d said but smiled anyway. He should’ve studied the commonly used phrases in Turkish more during the voyage, but admittedly he had struggled.
Either way, he seemed to be doing all right with this fellow so far.
He hadn’t been asked for his name yet, and Francis was happy to remain anonymous for a while longer.
They sat together for a while, not speaking much, only petting their respective cats, and greeting new cats when they approached.
Francis noted how the other cats were drawn to this man, which made sense if he was the one who fed them. They were probably hoping for more food.
One chatty cat meowed several times, and the man responded with quiet murmurs in Turkish. The cat meowed back.
“Are they telling you to fetch more food?” Francis asked.
This made the man chuckle. “Yes, always. Always more. Always an open mouth.”
The cat in question, a black cat, stared up at him, then meowed plaintively in answer.
“Mmm, no, no, you must wait,” the man said. “Lunch is soon.”
The black cat hopped up onto the pond edge, tail swishing as he looked down at the goldfish there. Probably thinking if he wasn’t being fed now, he’d contemplate catching his own.
“Don’t they eat the fish?” Francis asked.
The man shook his head. “Lazy,” he said, nodding to the black cat.
Francis nodded.
Aslan decided he’d had enough pets and sprung off Francis’s lap like a coiled spring. Francis felt the claws through the thin fabric of his trousers, and while it didn’t hurt too much it had surprised him.
“Hurt?” the man asked him, tilting his head. He didn’t seem as concerned as he was curious.
“No, I’m fine,” Francis assured him. “Just caught me by surprise, that’s all.”
The man nodded, as if satisfied.
Francis got the feeling that if he’d made a fuss about being scratched, this stranger would have judged him poorly.
“Kitten claws are sharp,” the stranger said, stroking the kitten. “More sharp than cat. Kitten claws are needles.”
“Oh? I’ve never held a kitten,” Francis admitted.
The man looked scandalised. “Never?”
“Sadly not,” Francis replied. “I think today was the first time I’ve even held a cat.”
His scandalised expression remained. “Why?” he asked.
“My household are all too fond of dogs,” Francis explained. “I’ve never been able to have a cat, though I dearly wanted one all my life.”
“Ah. Hm.” The man hummed, a contemplative look on his face. “You would like to see?” he asked. “We have more. Lots. Many kittens.”
“Oh!” Francis lit up. “Oh, yes, please!”
Today was off to a much better start.