Letting Sylvester Have It

What is that?  I look at my phone by the side of my bed and it is 3:30 in the morning.  A wailing moan and I fear for a moment that one of my daughters is crying or having a nightmare.  I think to wake my wife.  It’s coming from outside.  My wife is still sleeping.  Hasn’t the whole house been startled by this mournful cry?  Opening the window there is the silhouette of a cat, standing on the wall that separates our compound from the next.  He yells again.  I am certain it’s a ‘he.’  He sounds horny. 

This wall tends to be the stray cat highway.  All day long big, mangy cats parade across the wall.  From that perch, they can jump from one compound to another, evade dogs, avoid cars, hunt stuff.  He yells again.  I try to spot the object of his affection.  Perhaps she’s up and left him.  Thoughts turn to the Looney Tunes of my youth.  In that 1940s representation of New York City people weren’t averse to picking up an old shoe and letting Sylvester have it.  I tap the glass.  He doesn’t move.  But he doesn’t call out any more either. 

Flip.  Flop around a bit.  But I’m up now.  It’s cold upstairs.  Heat should rise but we have heated floors and its, much warmer downstairs.  Step out from the blankets and go?  May as well.  Indeed the downstairs floor is warm.  I sit down with my back against the pillow and the wall.  Meditate and think.  I’m not supposed to think.  But all I do is think of all things I should change.  Could I change that?  It wouldn’t be easy to change that.  I really must change that.

Later, I take my older one to an appointment downtown.  It’s down town for me, to head into Lido.  At another time in my Beijing life that would have been a drive way out to the country.  The DiDi driver isn’t from Beijing.  That is obvious in seconds.  “Where are you from?” I ask. “You’re not from Beijing.”  “Hey, how’d you guess?” He asks, as if someone with a Glaswegian roll of the tongue responded that way when so confronted in South Carolina.  “Oh I just had a sense.”  He’s from Wenzhou in southern Zhejiang.  I’ve never been.  I know they are the kings of shoes.  I know they have extended lending networks and are reputed to be remarkable business people and I allude to all these stereotypes.  He agrees.  Every time he turns he asks if I know the way or if we should use the GPS?  And when I tell him he’s doing fine, he seems to be roiled for a moment, “you sure?” and then he overcompensates with a servile friendliness.  I’m assuming this is him and not characteristic of the people of Wenzhou.

Tuesday, 01/23/18