Catnap

Catnap

By Marianne Katoppo

There was very little traffic in the sun-soaked alley. It was
really too narrow for motor vehicles, and being a shortcut to the
busy shopping center on the artery road, it was mainly used by
pedestrians. Of course Jakarta being Jakarta, the occasional car
or motorcycle would roar along, dodging small children, chickens
and cats. There were no dogs. The name of the main street was
Mosque Street.

The alley looked quite picturesque at times with its row of
small, low houses, most of which sported a pocket handkerchief
size front yard. Still, there was ample vegetation, because
people without front yards put their plants right in front of
their doors. An additional hazard to the drivers, but a delight
to cats looking for some shade on a hot day.

Of course this was no problem for the fat cat sunning himself
on the front porch of Number Six. His name was Catalunya, and he
knew very well he was the most beautiful cat of the realm. The
Cat Mother -- the human person who was so fortunate as to look
after him -- told him so every day. Passersby, looking over the
low red painted iron fence and seeing him sprawled out in full
splendor on top of the red water jar, often exclaimed admiringly
at his coloring, his size, the softness of his fur, and so on.
Most of them, never having seen an Angora cat, would say to each
other, "Look, what a magnificent Angora!"

Catalunya always accepted all forms of homage in a most
gracious manner, even though his admirers failed to recognize his
truly superior breed and took him for an insignificant Angora.
One of Cat Mother's friends, upon seeing him for the first time,
exclaimed, "What a beautiful cat. Did you bring him with you from
Denmark?"

The image of her sun-worshiping darling lost on a windswept
moor in bleakest West Jutland made Cat Mother shudder.

"Do you mind?" she said indignantly. "This is a genuine Betawi
Bongsor, with a pedigree going back to Aji Saka's very own cats."

The friend being a gullible foreigner was most impressed,
especially after Cat Mother told him the story of Aji Saka's
cats, and how the Javanese alphabet came into being.

"The two servants were literally faithful to the death," Cat
Mother sighed, "the cats, fortunately, were wiser."

The neighbors, however, were more impressed by the fact that
Catalunya's food came from the supermarket, in tins with pictures
of happy cats. At first Pak Mardjo the garbage collector harbored
dark suspicions about Cat Mother's eating habits. And why
shouldn't he? Tins with pictures of fish contained fish, and
those featuring cows contained beef, so...

"You must spend a fortune on cat food," another of Cat
Mother's friends, a human rights activist, said disapprovingly,
turning the tin around so that she could read the price. "Why,
this one tin costs more than a worker's minimum daily wages!"

"And one little jar of that junk you put of your face costs
more than the worker's annual income," Cat Mother purred. Never
using cosmetics herself, she could afford to sharpen her claws on
her friend's extravagant lifestyle.

Human rights or feline rights were of minor importance to
Catalunya whose favorite pastime was napping on top of the huge
water jar on the front porch. Cat Mother had put the jar there in
honor of an ancient custom which was formerly prevalent
throughout the East: The water was there to assuage the thirst of
the passing traveler.

"It was all part of hospitality," Cat Mother explained, "just
as it was the custom for people passing through orchards or
fields to help themselves to the fruit. They never took more than
they needed. And I have seen these jars in India and in Thailand,
too. Though the water would not be fit to drink now, I just put
mine there as a symbolic gesture."

None appreciated this symbolic gesture more than Catalunya,
who much preferred the jar over the rickety mailbox. The postman
also appreciated it, because although Catalunya was the
personification of sweetness and light, he did not care to be
disturbed during his nap.

This particular morning Catalunya was on top of his jar and
all was well with the world. The alley was peaceful, Number
Three's newly acquired roosters were strutting around and
attacking the potted plants, and Black Nanny of the repair shop
was hanging out her laundry on the little square that also served
as a minor market place, floor court, children's playground and
-- in the evening -- badminton court as well as venue for sundry
performances of traditional art.

The man who came sauntering into the alley was not a local
resident nor a regular passerby. When he came through the alley
for the first time, a few days ago, Parman of the small grocery
looked up suspiciously, and even stepped out of his shop to watch
the stranger. Mamat of the repair shop, commonly known as "Uncle
Fat" was also alerted when the man stopped in front of Number Six
an inordinately long time. He relaxed when he saw the man was
admiring Catalunya and even reaching out to pet him.

"Seems a bit touched," Uncle Fat reported to Parman, who after
all was the entrepreneur and therefore superior to a mere
mechanic. "Was meowing at the cat, too!"

"I have never seen him before," Parman observed. One of the
mechanics remarked that he had seen this man in New Life Street,
selling herbal remedies, and yes he did seem a bit touched.

The next time he came through, Uncle Fat -- who was, after
all, Cat Mother's closest neighbor, and whose wife, Black Nanny,
used to visit Cat Mother to watch White Snake Legend together --
engaged him in conversation. He discovered that yes he did live
in New Life Street and him wife was an agent for herbal remedies
which they also sold in the shopping center. Hence his passing
through this particular alley.

"My wife is allergic to cats," he confided sadly to Uncle Far,
"while I love them. I would give her up, but then I cannot cook,
can I?"

Uncle Fat, whose girth was also due to Black Nanny's culinary
skills, decided that the man wasn't that crazy. And paid no more
attention to the man's increasingly frequent strolls through the
alley.

Today the man was carrying a big airline bag. Parman who was
attending to a customer thought to himself that the herbal remedy
business did not seem to be doing too well, because the bag
looked quite empty. And the man, already having been identified
as "practically a local resident", did not step out of the shop
to watch him like he had done before.

It was uncommonly quiet in the alley. That's how Black Nanny
managed to hear the muffled cry, which caused her to look up
sharply. Had one of the children fallen into the deep smelly
gutter -- which Cat Mother called, romantically, The Streamlet?

Peering in the direction of The Streamlet she saw nothing
untoward. The mother duck and her seven ducklings were trotting
around on the muddy bottom. The roosters, who always managed to
escape the occasional motorcycle or other such hazards in spite
of the fervent prayers of some of the potted plant owners, were
strutting smartly towards the asoka plants of Number Four. Cats
not so fortunate as Catalunya were begging scraps of food from
the chicken noodle vendor.

The man passed quite closely by Black Nanny, keeping his eyes
straight ahead and walking faster than usual. She thought it was
a bit late for him to go to the shopping center with his herbal
remedies, but he seemed to have a lot to sell, judging from the
big blue bag which looked white heavy and was swinging in a
rather strange ...

... and from which emerged another piteous meow.

Black Nanny let out a blood-curdling yell which resounded
through the alley and launched herself at the man. "Hitam!" she
shrieked. "He is stealing our Hitam!" Upon which he threw down
the bag and ran for his life.

Uncle Fat and the mechanics, aided by the chicken noodle
vendor and some joyous children, managed to grab the man, while
Black Nanny and Aunt Curly from the grocery opened the bag and
rescued a very disgruntled Catalunya.

"I just wanted to take him home to play with him," the man
stammered. He was fortunate that the people of the alley were
already aware of his being "a bit touched", so they didn't beat
him up and let him go after making sure Catalunya was inside,
after giving him an extra meal of fried fish -- ordinary Jakarta
Bay fish. Catalunya ate it to the last morsel. She also called
Cat Mother, to report the incident.

Cat Mother could not stop laughing when she put the phone
down. "Imagine anybody wanting to kidnap my cat!" she chuckled to
a colleague. "He just wanted to play with him."

The colleague looked solemn. "You know," she said, "in France
-- or was it in China? -- when you order rabbit in the
restaurant, they put the rabbit's head on the dish so that you
know it really is rabbit meat."

Upon which Cat Mother immediately rushed home and with a sigh
of relief saw Calalunya sitting in the window, pretty as a
picture and safely beyond reach of the most ardent cat lover.

Born in Tomohon, North Sulawesi on June 9, 1943, Marianne Katoppo
is known for her novels Rumahku di Atas Jembatan and Raumanen.
The latter won her the 1975 Novel Writing Competition held by the
Jakarta Arts Council and the SEA Write, a Bangkok-based literary
prize for Southeast Asian writers. Her stories have appeared in
numerous publications, including the Kompas and Suara Pembaruan
dailies, and the Far Eastern Economic Review. She is now a
consultant for Yayasan Obor Indonesia.

Note: Bongsor means oversize. Aji Saka is a legendary king in
Javanese and Balinese folklore believed to have created the
Javanese alphabet.