This morning I, the newly crowned pervasive nomad, became well acquainted with the most determined of stray cats I had ever seen. It presented itself to me first not through vision but with a deep grumbling sound of a voice that said, “I mean business”. It was my first and only morning in Malaysia before heading onto further travels in my destination, Kunming. I had chosen to sit outside to eat my morning meal in order to make some attempt to enjoy my short stay under the canopy of the Malaysian tropics. It was warm; perhaps too warm for my liking but not so warm that it was unpleasant. The smell of spices that had infiltrated my lungs from the night before had now subdued into a damp, mossy heat that attracted earth and heavy floral scents of Frangipani and Hibiscus. I had been unaware at first of the stray’s presence, but rather had looked around in a state of confusion to find the source of the noise that seemed to echo throughout the lush greenery before me. It was not until several more minutes had passed that I found myself face to face with the source of the screeching A Cappella; a meek, timid, wide eyed, black cat. Indeed it seemed that the desperate growl had been little more than a bluff; for now I saw the poor creature staring so gingerly at my food plate that it nearly shook to be so close to me. The creature’s wide eyes brought the greatest sense of empathy to my heart, but as much as I would have loved to pat the poor creature I knew that this stray’s business lay no further than the appetizing food that it hoped was piled on my plate. I looked down, watermelon, pineapple, honeydew – luckily I had selected a small portion of scrambled eggs that I decided would have to do for a feline breakfast. I threw a clumped portion towards it, it bowed it’s head and sniffed my offering; a disappointed “meowww” was all I heard. I knew the delicacy it sought. It became clear to me that this cat, in fact, knew the menu and its distinct “meooww” had gradually transformed into a language that called for one thing, “meaaaat”. A pleasant disposition washed over me, how happy I would be to set out on such a mission for my new acquaintance. I was sure that hotel staff would not think too kindly of my encouragement towards the cat’s presence, so I decided that my mission would have to require stealth, precision and absolute secrecy. I had only taken a small portion when I had first circulated the buffet, so it would appear normal that I return for seconds – particularly a western girl, those Malays would think, they are always eating too much. I took my plate and casually walked back inside; I re-circulated the buffet this time with the best of feline intentions. Sausages, curried meats, were both too large and too flavorsome for my dear friend. Ah, but placed like a feline shrine in the middle of the buffet, steaming under the golden lighting lay a tray titled “Sliced Beef”, perfect. I piled several lashings onto my place and made quickened movements as I returned to my outside table. “Puss, puss, puss, puss”, I whispered; beginning to fear that I had in fact lost my morning companion. “Meow”, I heard from a thicket of tropical leaves, and the small, goggle eyed creature appeared once more. I tossed my offerings towards him, and the dear eagerly fed into them; a primitive yet fundamental sign of consent. I watched the cat eating, it no longer made sharp, uncertain movements towards me but merely accepted me as it’s equal, it’s food source, it’s friend. How pleased I was. Not only by my exceeding success in selecting the right meal for my friend, but most importantly for the sheer comfort of that; a friend. I sipped my dhal and looked on at my fury companion. His manners were of the most unwholesome propriety as he gnawed and gnarled at the stringy flesh, and yet in all manner of speaking his company was most appealing. The last of the meat was swallowed by my friend and I happily offered him a little more. I was happy for the company perhaps even more so than I was for some human company? He did not ask me “and how is the weather today Miss Anderton,” or “and did we sleep well last night?” But rather he approached me in the most humane manner I had ever expected, just like an equal. It became clear to me, we were both survivors, trying to make the best of a free meal, unsure of where we would end up by the end of the day, but equally prepared to meet with the best and the worst of times.
When we travel, it is funny what things come to move us and re-teach us the fundamentals that we often forget at home. There is a saying from somewhere that I once heard that goes; you will not find your home by leaving it. But maybe it is when we do travel that we come to find what we appreciate about our home the most. Here I am no longer Jordan Anderton, but the ‘Australian Girl’. My single self has come to represent the whole of Australia in this one city that I will live in.
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