Cats Gone A-Missin'

Sometimes the animal world is a mirror onto humans. Take my kitties and the neighboring dog for example. The powerful, entitled black pitbull comes rambling down the street and the kittens slink backwards, hair raised, to hide in the shadows of our house. While they may be smarter, cuter, fluffier than the dog, they are less powerful, and this is what causes their retreat. Their hair stands on end until the dog is well away in the distance, terrorizing some other poor neighborhood pet.

* * *

It feels like life here is a roller coaster that tops off in the heavens and reaches its lows in the sweaty craters of hell. The ride is short, too, often reaching its highs and lows in the span of just a few hours. At times I am so alive, smiling broadly as I lip-synch to 10-year-old Spice Girl tunes, teach, or do my part in a struggle for human rights in this little part of the earth. And other times I just feel pain- a deep, slow twisting thing in my heart- a pain endured by my friends and students here daily.

I should start off by saying that my impending departure from Sangkhla and my students has not only turned my emotions to something I wear on my sleeve, but has also thrown the reality of the situation in Burma smack-dab in front of my eyes; I am no longer allowed to imagine away their stories of forced labor, money shortages, and abuses by the notorious military regime. They’re going back and the circumstances under which they live remain the same as when they left.

The precariousness of life on the border has also been underscored by a series of disheartening events which have recently occurred, including the murder of a monk, a visit to our office of a man spouting off racist remarks and threatening the security of my students, and a bomb explosion during Mon National Day festivities.

Despite being a western girl who grew up with plenty of human rights and security to which I can return at the drop of a hat, these events don’t roll off me as easily as I wish. Indeed, I now notice myself speaking in small voices when talking about human rights, wondering why my neighbor tore down his fence by only my window (just here, why nowhere else?!), and looking suspiciously at those who are sitting in the tea shop next to me before sharing my daily news with a friend. There’s an undertone of anxiety, a slow drip-drop of fear propagated by those in positions of power (established through law or violence). For people running from oppression, this is a daily reality.

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Last week, our kittens upped and went missing. We searched for the duo, pitching our voices high to create the Burmese “here kitty kitty kitty” equivalent (“mee mee mee mee”). We questioned the neighbors, developed theories of the man next door poisoning them due to their threat to his chickens, and contemplated the likely possibility that some nomadic folk stole the pair and cooked them up for dinner.

It turned out the answer was literally in our own backyard, discovered by a student who ventured down our hill to retrieve some vegetables for dinner. Hand in hand with another student I climbed through the pineapple bushes to see for myself what I had feared after those first catless nights. There it was: a dead cat corpse, ants crawling and flies swarming. On its body were marks of a dog attack, presumably that of the goliath next door. While that toxic smell and the initial heart sinking hurt, I realized later that this was not what frightened me so about this image. No, these memories would dissolve as the days passed. What would not dissolve, however, was the reminder of the lot of the powerful versus the powerless, the tyrant in his show of strength against those he can oppress. My expression soured as I turned to walk up the hill and the image of my cat-- helpless, dead, weak-- imprinted itself on my mind. One last view of him revealed small paws covering light green eyes a vain attempt to obscure the pain and to alleviate the fear. I hope it worked.