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Expat Zone |
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[EXPAT VOICE] İstanbul from the one-meter and
below perspective
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Stray cats and dogs make up a sizeable community in the city of İstanbul.
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It is said that Muhammad liked cats.
He said dogs, hearing the word of man, obeyed him; but cats, hearing God’s word, would not obey man, only God.
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Dogs are purported to be un-Islamic. Don’t tell that to most Turks. They love their dogs, dogs are everywhere, well-cared for, even the strays. That blue chip you may see in a stray’s ear means someone’s seeing to it that that dog is getting his shots. You see Turks walking their dogs all the time. They will not let them in the house, wanting the house clean and it is ritual to forbid dogs from the home, but many Turks OWN dogs, they just keep them outside, in kennels. Not dog houses -- fenced-in multi-dog apartment dwellings. But the strays are always around too, especially at night, so around 2 a.m., it’s like listening to all the late-night bark shows. “My next guest [single dog, running through woods, is announced from a kilometer away], ROWR ROWR ROWR, my next guest ROWR is, well you all know him, he’s the sultan of the neighborhood, cur of the caddesis, a big WHOOF warm İstanbul welcome BARK BARK BARK for Mehmet!” And the entire local dog audience erupts from multiple homes, RAWR RAWR BARK BARK ROWF ROWF RAWRF RAWRF BARK! Until 10 minutes later, when after his gig, Mehmet runs to his SECOND show of the night, ROWR ROWR ROWFFF! and it starts all over again. I hardly notice it anymore. İstanbul’s cats, they are everywhere, many very beautiful and striped. Most of ‘em look contented and will come over if you ask, although they’ll be annoyed if you don’t have food. Or if they want petting and you try and stop, “MRRRowll!” Hey, petting to continue, please! If you’re a hit, the cat will follow you. A big orange tabby, he is my new friend by the gym; I like that cat. I would say there’s mutual interest. I am doing a heck of a lot better with cats than with women, although the similarities are obvious. The cats are a comfort, and they encourage me in the other. Except I know how to talk to a cat. That’s been true as long as I can remember; with cats and dogs, I get them to come over when no one else can, and then they don’t want to leave. Some part of me is always amazed not everyone knows how to talk to dogs and cats. I once made new friends in a bar with this acquaintance’s roommates’ dog; he was dogsitting. The guy was there with his German boss. Poor little girl, a young orange pit bull, she was neglected and lonesome, and we talked about it a long, long time and I let her tell me her whole story. Much petting and cuddling and looking her in the face, she whined, she was so sad. I let her know we were pals. We wrestled some on the floor. The German fellow, who’d been formal and stiff when we were introduced, stared in amazement. “What is zis? You say he does not know ze dog? That is ridiculous! He does not know the dog? But look at him! He … the dog … obviously he knows zis dog, anyone can see it, or how … how is it like this then with the dog?” I didn’t want to interfere with the boss-employee meeting, but I had to answer. “She’s just lonely,” I said.
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JOHN FOSTER
İSTANBUL
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