The Most Significant Thing I Did This Year

I suppose the short version is; I didn’t steal a kitten. But of course there’s more to the story that touches on cultural bias, Western privilege and basic ethics.

So how did this adorable kitten become a symbol of such deep topics?

She showed up for a few nights where I was housesitting in Sora, a mountain town in Panama. The first night, she scurried away when she saw me. But on the second night she ate the chicken I’d left out for her. On the third night, she let me pet her.

I knew she wasn’t feral, but she was skinny, dirty and hungry - so I figured she was a stray. Stray animals are pretty common here in Panama. Many Panamanians don’t believe in neutering or spaying their animals and many people are too poor to access veterinary services. Imagine if you had to take a day off of work to bring your dog on a bus for a forty-five minute drive to get to the vet. Would you sacrifice that day of work? Not likely. And you’d be more inclined to feed your kids first and then your concern would extend to the animals.

Thankfully, there are well organized low cost spay and neuter clinics here in Panama, but they don’t reach everyone.

The cat didn’t leave. She camped out on a chair on the patio and gave me those eyes. The look that goes straight to the heart and tugs. Not only did I give her more chicken, I immediately drove down the hill and bought all the things for a kitten. Kitten chow, a bed, toys, canned food, litter, treats, a flea comb, Bravecto treatment and a carrier case. I raced back up the hill, giddy with anticipation of her seeing her new things.

I didn’t see the kitten for another day or two.

The homeowner where I’ve been housesitting mentioned the cat was likely owned by an old man in the neighborhood. I made an assumption that the man would likely think the kitten ran off or met an ill fate. I couldn’t bring the kitten inside where I was housesitting and it became quite clear she was entering a heat cycle due to the hormonally driven male cats lurking on the patio and darting after her despite my loud admonishments. Reminded me of high school. On the day when the kitten returned, I drove her down the mountain from Sora and up the mountain to El Valle where a woman graciously offered to foster the kitten until I was done with the housesit.

By this time I was head over heels in love and was coordinating for her spay surgery. A text from the homeowner came in: the old man is asking about his cat, if anyone has seen it.

Shit!

I’ll be honest, part of me just wanted to ignore that text. And while I heard my thoughts go down the Western privilege track - I could provide a better life for her - it was tempered with the belief that having an opinion which in fact may be accurate by some measure, does not make it right.

Can the love of an animal be measured in some quantifiable way? What if the old man has love in his heart for his kittens? Does that make my love more valuable just because he is poor? What if bringing her to a veterinarian caused her harm? Some cats die during routine surgery. I had a cat die from a vaccine associated sarcoma. So while it may be my opinion that I could offer the kitten a better life, it is not necessarily true.

I decided I’d do what was best for the kitten. And that was to get her spayed. I sent a picture of the kitten to the gardener to show the old man for him to verify if this was the cat in question. Yes, it was his.

Then, I asked the gardener to ask the old man if I could keep the kitten. And I vowed I would honor the old man’s answer.

Day one passed with no word. I tried not to continue bonding too deeply but seriously that’s like leaving a few spoonfuls of your favorite ice-cream in the dish. I just couldn’t help scooping up the kitten and telling her how much I loved her.

Day two passed without an answer. I interpreted this in my favor; that if the old man wanted the kitten back, he would have responded immediately. But of course he also could have been torn in his decision and therefore needed time.

On day three, while I was meeting with another cat sitter, a text came in from the homeowner; the kitty is yours!

I jumped for joy and felt so incredibly grateful and relieved. In that moment, she became officially mine and I publicly declared her name, Feather.

And while I was jubilant, I also was concerned about how easy it is for us to declare that our ideas, whether from our culture or familial patterning, are the absolute right way. A good example of how my own thinking has changed in the years I’ve lived in Panama is in regards to the unleashed dogs. Some are clearly owned by people; they have collars and are fed. But rarely will you see a dog on a leash once you get out of Panama City. I used to shudder in absolute fear for the animal and disapproval of the owners. But this reaction was in large part informed by a traumatic event I witnessed when I was five years-old. My beloved dog, Dusty, was struck and killed by a garbage truck.

But now I see how phenomenally happy these dogs are to roam free. They meet up at the end of driveways, sniff a few butts and run off to an empty lot. They’re out exploring, smelling all the smells, eating horrible things and doing what dogs do. When I look at their faces, I see smiles. Is a dog roaming free better or worse off than the dog who is tied up all day and all night? Yes, that dog is safe, but is it living a happy life?

I saw my own thoughts reflected in the words of others who posted on my FB page in response to my post that I may not be able to keep the kitten if the owner decided he wanted her back. I will try my best going forward not to jump to conclusions and not to assume my way is the right way. I’m not going to sign a legal document stating this, but I’m really going to do my best to be mindful and to consider the lens with which I look through.

I finally have come to the realization that what my mother, father, brother, friends, exes and strangers may have said over my lifetime is in deed, correct.

I am not always right!

“He needs some sort of proof that she’s his. I still would not give him money or give her back. She was neglected, despite the differences in animal care.”

“Perhaps when they are desperately poor it’s best not to have a cat, rather than have one that can’t be cared for properly plus add to the feral community, educating pet owners may be part of an answer, but just because someone is poor doesn’t give an excuse to treat an animal less than they deserve to be treated.”

“She’s yours now. Just ignore the guy. Or tell him he can have the cat back if he pays you for everything you’ve spent on her. He won’t be interested in the cat then.”

“I always feel if she’s on the streets, especially not cared for, the owner doesn’t deserve to have her. You are the person caring for her, not him. He had his chance.”

“Keep her!!! He didn’t take care of her and that’s not fair to her!!! You took care of her so she’s yours and that’s that.”

“Show him your vet bills and a card showing a name of an attorney, he might back off”

To show my gratitude to the old man, I put together a Christmas treat bag. A few canned hams, canned sardines, coffee, sugar, guandu (pigeon peas) with coconut and a package of cookies along with a fruit cake. I walked to his property and stood in the street taking in the scene. Scrap metal was piled near the street border, a rooster was tied to a stick-built chicken coop. The house was unpainted cement block and maybe had only one or two roof-covered rooms. As I walked over the wooden planks onto the property, I noticed the fridge outside where a few chairs were set out. But the most impactful thing I saw was a beautiful vibrant Christmas tree decorated with red and gold bows, shimmering ornaments, silver garland wrapped around the full tree and a big gold star at the top.

Off to the side was a jet-black cat relaxing during midday cat-napping time. Will that cat have less of a better life because it may not have store-bought toys, food formulated for felines and vet visits? Maybe. Maybe not.