The Professional.

We have had a professional in our house for the last few days.  He lays in wait for the kitchen rats to return.  Last night he got his wish. 

I arrived home on the night after the rats got into my room to find that my host mother was carrying a lidded basket that was making some very odd noises.  She took it into the kitchen and opened it up and out popped the professional.

He was a small, but full grown cat; white with a brown spot and a black paw.  His tail was kinked where it had been broken, his pink nose was scarred and he was missing a toe on his front foot; it made him swagger forwards as he walked.  The professional yawned and then began to mutter to himself exploring his new surroundings.  His green slitted eyes studied walls and rafters, floor and hearth.  He poked his nose into the living room and then walked back towards me.  It was as if my mother had already forgotten him.  She set the basket on a high shelf and went to prepare the bread for the next day.  As the cat explored he would mutter in a low continuous manner.  Yowl, yowl, growl, yowl sniff yowl.

About cats.  I have seen very few cats in the city.  Some come to beg when I eat at a certain restaurant and will allow a good scratch behind the ears as long as they have a chicken bone to gnaw on.  But by and large they do not have a visible population.  This confuses me because, if Bob Barker is to be believed, cats left unchecked will fill every home and rain gutter with their kittens.  I asked Alphonso about it when we were still in training in Balibar.  He told me that cats were “lu-lik” (bad luck, sacred, magic) and mostly the people who owned them were Matan Doks (far seer).  Matan Doks are the witches and voodoo priests of the Timorese traditions.  I have yet to meet one and have not tried to seek one out.

The professional was not at all shy and got around to meeting me as I sat on the porch.  His yowls alerted me of his coming and he gamboled around the corner giving me an interested glance.  He butted up against my leg and I gave him a scratch that sent up a cloud of dust.  His whiskers were matted with cobwebs. 

It was a day or two before I began to understand his strange and constant language.  I am still no expert in cat but when the words started coming clear I understood what kind of a cat I was dealing with.

“Heard you got a rat problem.  Yeah.  Nice house like this.  Don’t worry, happens to the best of us.  You did the right thing calling me in.  We’ll get that taken care of don’t you worry.  Shouldn’t cost you more than, six, seven cans of tuna.  I know, steep right?  More than you were expecting, right?  I tell ya it’s hard to put a price on a good night’s sleep.  Am I right?  Sure I’m right.”

And around a corner he would go. Later he would come back out still talking.

“So uh.. see you got some poison dere.  Set up all nice in ya room there.  Poisons good.  Poisons good.  If these was normal rats.  Calm down… Calm down didn’t mean to scare ya.  Just sayin I’ve seen a hundred houses, big and small and you’ve got yourself quite an In-Fest-a-tion.  So ya gotta ask yourself am I going to trust this to poison?  Course not.  What if you kill the wrong rat?  What if you kill the rat who’s the voice of reason in the old rat parliament ‘dere.  Now what?  Well now you got an unfavorable government on the rise, that’s what.  They might decide just running around chewing on things, well that’s not good anymore.  Gotta get more personal now.  And let me tell you sir you do-not-want-that.”

And  under the stove he went. Later during dinner I would feel a nose on my leg.

“So uh might a gone a little far dere.  Mighta said some stuff that went right over ya head right?  Bet ya didn’t even know that the rats have a strong grasp of Roberts rules of Parliamentary Procedure.  Very by-the-book your normal pack of rats. Anyway you don’t worry about that sir cause with me you have full coverage and a personalized warranty.  And I’m talking, facist rats, populist elective rats- I know you wouldn’t think it but this one time last year-  dere I was and if they didn’t have themselves an appointee designate- listen to me!  Nothing to worry about sir, clear sailin’ now that I’m here.”

The rats were silent for three days.  The professional would prowl the kitchen and occasionally rub against my door.  I  never saw him step foot from the house or stop his prowl of our rooms.

Last night I heard a noise and then there was a squeal.  Two minutes later there was a clatter as if a cup had fallen and a grunt.  Then there was a ruckus.  I stayed in my bed as feet scampered and ran, there were squeals and hisses.  What I never heard was the cat.  Soon it was quiet. 

When I woke this morning and came out into the kitchen the cat was licking its’ whiskers.  Someone had furnished it with a small dish of the evaporated milk that the kids in my house love so much.  There was no evidence that a great battle had taken place save a small plastic cup that had wedged itself under the stove.  I picked it up and a tuft of hair drifted out.  Could have been a dust bunny but the narrative pull of this story tells me it was probably a hunk of hair from the rat leader, be he speaker of the house, President or Grand Vizier.

The cat looked up and wiped his whiskers. “So I guess dats dat.  No more rat trouble here.  Better than poison, am I right?  But hey what do you know about rats.  Not a thing you don’t have to, right?  I’ll be heading out here in a second.  Just wanted to say it was a pleasure and remember ever see a rat in this house again ya covered.”

I don’t imagine I will see the cat when I go home again.  I imagine his basket will be gone and some unknowable payment will be slipped to a bent and withered old crone with magical powers.  But what’s a good imagination compared to a full night’s sleep?