Month: June 2017

So the short story is that we get to keep this guy around for a little longer. The longer story is my failed lesson is waiting patiently.

This morning when I got up, I realized that Queso was in the same place that he was when I went to bed. Usually this time of the morning, he is dancing on the bed to wake me up so he can go out for an adventure- he is that kind of cat!

I picked him up and he let me pet him, but when I put him down he went right back to the same position curled up on a chair. His eyes looked glassy, and I was worried.

We had never visited a vet here, so I called a friend for a contact. She sent back a number and I called. The lady said that someone would be there in an hour. In our setting, one hour can easily become two hours, so three hours later I called her back and there was no answer.

By this time, the cat who had earlier drank milk would not take any food or liquid. His eyes looked more glassy, and the cat who usually would not let anyone but me pet him, let Stephen pet him. He seemed to have lost his fight.

I called the other number I had received. A guy answered, and said that he would come over as soon as he could, but that he was the only one in the clinic at the time, so he would have to wait until someone else came in to replace him.

Lunch hour here goes from 12:30 to 2:30, and in that time I became increasingly anxious. During that time, there were fireworks being shot off in front of the house and a parade of about 500 people. My agitation mounted as I saw Queso head for cover with a wobbly body that seemed to lack his control.

I poured my effort into work, but inside I was cursing the vet, the people, the country and culture. I had texted the person who had given me the number for the vet, to see if she would call- maybe that would be motivation. Right at that time he pulled up.

Although Queso appeared to me on his last legs and was starting to smell bad, he went into fight mode with the vet. After a quick assessment of a mouth infection, the administration of medicine involved two scratched people and a 10 minute cat ambush. Queso finally gave up panting behind the pineapple and aloe vera plants, and I was able to pin him down for his medicine.

I paid the vet and thanked him for coming.

Now, the same cat who looked like he was done in for two hours ago, has gobbled down food, insisted on being pet, and ventured outside.

I have taken back my curses on the vet, the people, the country and the culture!

 

It was an interesting day on Sunday. Stephen and I were home in the morning because we decided to go to evening church (by far, the bigger event). I looked out at my neighbor’s house across the street and noticed the signs of an impending party- tables, chairs, and a band with four 4-foot tall speakers setting up in the front “yard” of the house. Inwardly I cringed; I know what was to come- I don’t know the decibels, but I do know that when this happens, Stephen and I usually have to yell at each other inside our house to be heard.

In the afternoon, I made bread and listened to an American pastor from the church in Alabama that had just been here the few days before. He spoke on Romans 12, with a specific emphasis to me “Bless those who persecute you. Don’t curse them; pray that God will bless them”; not just be nice to them, but rejoice with them. I knew that this evenings plans were not a persecution to me, but my thinking can get skewed in a situation like this.

The music started at 4:20, during the skype with my parents, and we headed out the door at 5:15 for church. As we walked out, I said, “I choose to bless them not to curse them”, hoping that this “post-it “ message would stick in my brain and my heart.

Church, here, is loud but we expect that now. But as we were walking home from church, we heard the party from three long blocks away. “I choose to bless them, not to curse them.” As we approached the house, we realized that the volume has been turned up and people were dancing. I took the time to go wish my neighbor happy birthday. She told me that it was not her birthday, but her sister’s birthday. They were celebrating the 50^th birthday of her deaf sister.

All the sudden, the noise had a purpose and a name. She was feeling the music as she was dancing and enjoying her friends. I returned to my house feeling not just tolerant of the noise, but happy for her.

I went into our house, and while I was preparing dinner, I opened a drawer and a grey-brown mouse scurried back into hiding. I told Stephen and he came in, and pulled everything out of the cupboard and drawers. I went to get Tito, my cat, and was shoving her in the cupboard, when I heard someone yelling, “Buenas!” over the sound of the music. I went to the door, and my neighbor and her sister had plates of food for us, and cuts of cake. What a blessing!

They came into our house, Stephen was without a shirt, I was in my nightgown, the cat in the cupboard, and there was stuff all over the floor in the kitchen. I am not sure how all of that interaction went, because I felt scattered, but it was a good connection with our neighbors-smiles all around.

The music lasted for about another hour, and I can honestly say that I was happy for her experience!

PS: Tito never did get the mouse and was a little irritated with the music!