Priorities are strange things. This morning I heard a kitten crying loudly outside my room, and when I opened the door to leave for class, a skinny ball of furry stripes came darting through my legs and into the house. I picked him up (still wailing) and he curled into a ball in the space between my collarbone and my neck and began purring. I was pretty much done for. I eventually managed to get him off of me, and found him to be about 6 weeks old, very skinny with dark stripes and bright white oversized paws. He followed me (wailing even more loudly now) all the way to the taxi.
There have been several moments over the last few days when I thought I might actually break down and cry. So far it hasn't happened, mostly because I've been in company and well distracted. This kitten almost got me. All morning long I could still hear him crying at me, still see him circling my feet. I sat for the test, I survived the hour of class afterwards, and then we got to the break. I made my decision and set off to return to the Medina.
Frequently when I'm making these rash, emotional decisions, I look for signs from the universe (or God, if you prefer) that I'm doing the right thing. If you're a frequent reader of our class blog (or an ALIF student) you understand that it is usually impossible to get a taxi at the taxi stand near McDonalds. I walked up, asked the first driver I saw if he would take me to Batha and he sort of shrugged in an affirmative manner. I took this as a sign that my truancy was a good call.
Once back in Batha I bought some milk and went looking for my cat. After an unsuccessful search of the street, the neighborhood watch guy waved me over. I started to explain in Arabic and he said (in English) "You are looking for the very small cat? I saw you with him this morning." I told him I was. He smiled and pointed at the milk in my hand "You want to give him milk?" He asked this without a hint of disdain (I expected to get treated like a crazy woman.) Pointing at a hole in the wall he explained the kitten lives in there and that I could leave the milk with him and he would give it to the cat the next time he comes out of the hole. I thanked him and he seemed to understand how important it was to me.
My spirits lifting, I went back to class.
When we took a bus trip to Meknes a few of us played a car game that involved counting livestock and getting points for who had the most cows/sheep/whatever on their side of the car. The rule was that passing a cemetery took away all of your points, setting you back to 0.
I used to think that death, and grief, makes a person irrational, that suddenly the elevated importance lent to every relationship and every person in your life is just a side effect of profound loss. Today I came to the conclusion that I've been all wrong about this. The people I care about seem so much more important because this is how I should feel. Life and time will numb this, I will forget this feeling and I will go back to taking every one I love for granted too often. It is the sad fact of life that we are eager to be lulled into this faith that we will always have more time, that our last words will always get to be said and said well. Death takes this faith away. Right now, while I am still painfully aware of how false this faith is, I want to make sure that I live well, and honestly and that I tell the people I care about how much they mean to me. Right now I want to fix the things I can even if it is only one day of hunger for one very tiny kitten. I do not think this is a sign of misplaced priorities.
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