It's all set and sorted. It's about 16:00 hours on a Thursday in September, the 24th specifically of the year 2015 C.E.
I am driving to town to pick up some antibiotics that, in theory, will keep malaria well dormant in our systems, should any unfriendly mozzy decide to have a go at us in Kerala, India.
This, of course, according to our doctor in the village we currently live in. Mr Miguel is an immunologist, as well as my G.P for many years now. According to him, when we went to see him a few days previously, we are very, nay, extremely likely to be bitten by some mosquito that will pass on malaria to us. He excitedly goes on to show us pictures of what malaria proto-nuisances look like when they enter our cells. So exciting to him, so scary to me...am I sure I want to go for travel to that area of the world?
I guess curiosity prevails, and the answer is yes...
After this uplifting and exciting indigestion of theoretical malaria, he prescribes another set of antibiotics, just in case we eat something that causes us to spend more time sitting on the loo (Water Closet for those Anglos and non-Anglos among you who don't use this expression) rather than anywhere else in the house. All sorted; any slimy bug does not have any chance with us, by now equivalent of superman and superwoman-travelers.
Anyway, while driving to town I stop at the local ironmonger to get a set of keys. During the last few weeks it has been really frantic. Preparations for this journey have been really exhausting, as we were closing several chapters. For me in particular it was a moment of great changes: the house I had for so many years went back to the bank, on the one side because of our non-willingness anymore to pay a very high mortgage that we had gotten during the years of the boom, on the other side because a lack of desire by the bank to reach a new mortgage agreement. Well, I did need to mourn that chapter in my life, the death of a way of life yet, on the other hand, the palpable presence of precious friends made it possible for us to have another roof over our heads, whilst, at the same time, earning a very good living by promoting one of the properties as a B&B.
So, as I was saying, closing several houses really. And timing was actually quite important because a friend had asked over for dinner, as she knew it was our last evening. She figured it would have been much easier for us if we did not have to cook and, last but not least, it was a good way for us to share a fledgling friendship. We had seen each other only fleetingly, yet it was clear there was a connection at the level of the soul between us.
Furthermore, we had a cat. Ron is the name, after the Spanish verb ronronear, to purr. 18 year-old ginger female with attitude, lots of attitude. Will only eat one specific type of food from one specific store.
That evening, she was going to be relocated to the house of another friend. And here it gets a little more complex.
Friend A who invited us for dinner, was staying in the house of friend B, who was away for a few days. Friend B has a white terrier with a hyperactivity issue, hence friend A did not want him in her house; she agreed to stay in the house of friend B, take care of him, welcome Ron and by the way, take care of her own dog as well. Sounds complex? well, it is!
Back to the ironmonger's store. The keys are ready, I look at my watch: perfect timing; so much so that we have some spare time. I feel like a complete winner, get back into the car and drive back to our abode.
I am met by G, the person I live with, on the terrace, and I share my celebration and celebratory mood with her.
The celebration does not last long.
Gordana tells me, almost casually: "ah, Ron has just pulled a runner into the garden, and hasn't come back."
Usually Ron goes to the garden, which she also considers to be a toilet, and then runs back in. Not this afternoon.
My thoughts are quite adapted to an episode of Miss Marple's: "who dun it" in that I am considering which one to murder first; the cat if and when she comes back, or G for letting her go out, as if G had any magical power to stop cats from pulling runners.
I guess, I reckoned, on the other hand I'll just drop it and meditate myself into peacefulness instead...I stopped drinking alcohol some two years ago; maybe this would be a good occasion to have a whiskey as time is of the essence. Tomorrow midday we have a flight to catch, and if Ron doesn't show up, well, as tough as it might sound, she will be a homeless cat.
It turns out that Ron doesn't show up till we come back, late in the evening. There she is, in front of the big sliding window, screaming and clearly scared.
So what now?
More in my next article...:-)
