This isn't going to have a happy ending, is it?

People who know me will not be surprised to meet the latest edition to our Nigerian household – Squirt. I was walking back from the shop with my housemate yesterday when we heard this endless squeaking. I initially thought it was a bird, but then my housemate pointed to a kitten across the street sat on a drain cover. So so tiny, and completely on its own. I stood there for long enough for some of the men standing nearby to come over. They asked if I wanted the kitten. I explained I couldn’t have the kitten, but asked where it’s mum was. Dead. Right. Is anyone looking after the kitten? Yes. Does someone feed the kitten? Yes. And to prove the point, a man walked over and put some huge chunks of bread down in front of the kitten. This kitten could only have been about 2 weeks old; its eyes were barely open. It was not yet at the stage where it could eat bread. They kept asking if I wanted him, and I kept saying I couldn’t have him. And all the while the kitten kept sitting there howling. So we walked home, and I felt like a monster. By the time we got home, I’d pretty much decided I couldn’t just leave him there to die. But I was also aware that I’d be taking an animal potentially full of fleas into our flat. Might not bother me hugely if it meant the cat got to live, but my housemates might not be so keen. So I walked to the pharmacy across the street and asked if they had any flea treatment for cats. They laughed. Okay, well did they know a vet in Abuja? They laughed some more. I walked back to the kitten, half hoping someone had come along after me and given him a lovely caring home. No. Still sat there howling. The person who had earlier claimed to be in charge of feeding him came over to me again. We had a conversation that went something like this:

Me: “Is he your cat?”
Cat Man: “Yes”
Me: “Do you want to keep him?”
Cat Man: “Yes”
Me: “Where does he sleep at night?”
Cat Man: “Yes”
Me: “Do you want me to have the cat?”
Cat Man: “Yes”
Me: “You don’t understand a word I am saying do you?”
Cat Man: “Yes”

This clearly wasn’t working. Whilst we had been having this conversation, a crowd of about 10 other men had joined us, presumably to watch the crazy white woman talking to the man about the cat.

It’s worth explaining that cats are not loved here. In the South they were associated with witchcraft, so whenever I told anyone in Calabar I had cats at home they looked like I had just said I was harbouring the devil. Here, the association with witchcraft doesn’t seem to be as strong, but they are still not liked, and treated more like vermin.

But I digress. I looked around the group and asked if anyone could understand me and help the other man to understand my questions. One man said yes, he could. So I asked again if the man wanted the cat. No, he didn’t. He wanted me to take the cat - did I want to pay for the cat? No, I would give the cat a home and feed it and love it, if it was not wanted here, but I wasn’t going to pay for the cat. Especially as I was fairly certain the cat probably didn’t even belong to the Cat Man, it was more likely to just be a feral cat and he was claiming ownership in the hope of making money from the crazy white woman. So, the Cat Man picked up the cat, and thrust it into my hands. Then he disappeared off, gesturing that I should stay there. He came back a few minutes later with a box, put the cat in the box, and said goodbye.

So off I went home with a cat. A cat that was no bigger than the palm of my hand. Thankfully my housemate had been knitting me a blanket (I’m a weirdo, and had recently been starting to feel a bit cold). So she quickly finished off the edges and gave me the blanket for the cat. Cat was hungry. I found a syringe in my sterile medical kit (I knew VSO had told us to bring one of those for a reason) and made up some powdered milk. Cat went crazy for the milk, and couldn’t have eaten for days. Cat was very very bony with just a big alien head and a few tufts of fur to his name. Cat was washed in a bowl of warm water, in case of any fleas. Cat then went very limp and I thought for one awful minute I had killed him, but thankfully after a few minutes of madly rubbing him dry with his blanket he became slightly more lively. Cat was named Squirt.

And Squirt survived the night. Squirt does not like being left alone for a second. I have not been able to put him down and have to carry him everywhere. I didn’t sleep much last night, and had to go home at lunchtime today to feed him. He’s tiny, and bony, and still quite weak, but he seems surprisingly happy and healthy, and he is purring and always wants to eat. No matter what happens, I have little doubt if I had left him on the road he would have died, or been killed (I’ve seen cats drowned in open sewers here before) and so I’m glad he’s at least safe and being fed and loved, even if he’s too weak to make it. So now I have a pet. Anyone want to send a vet over to Abuja? Oh, and some cat food? And flea and worm treatment? And a litter tray?