the total feline institution

So, I had to find something to do with Methodius while I was away from Gaborone. I asked a friend and her family to look after him, which they were happy to do -- except for the week they were in Durban. But this was no problem: When one of Methodius' littermates had been ill, Methodius' mother's owner had gotten in touch with someone who stayed in a village called Gabane (ha-BAH-neh) about a thirty-minute drive from Gabs, and who was somewhat of an authority on cats.

As my departure loomed, I began asking around, and learned that this authority ran a "cattery" in Gabane. (In case you don't know -- as I didn't -- exactly what cattery is, this particular establishment describes itself as "a serene, stress-free environment, in which cats relax and enjoy their stay, and their owners leave with peace of mind.")

I left M. with my friends, but things were so hectic trying to get out of Gabs that I didn't have a chance to call and make a booking until I got to Cape Town. The day after I got there, the friend with whom I was staying and I made a 5:30am trip to the airport to pick up some colleagues. We ran around the airport in the early morning hours, but never found them. (As it turned out, they flew in the following day. But we later rewarded our efforts with a delicious, if sleep-deprived, brunch at the Olympia Café and a stroll on the beach.)

In any case, I took the opportunity of three hours of down-time at the arrivals gate to phone the cattery in Gabane and make a booking for M. At first it seemed that the cattery was full -- horror of horrors! When I indicated that M. was only four months old, however, the situation changed dramatically, and a booking was eventually secured. The only catch was that, as with all the Christmastide bookings, M. had to stay until 3 January. But it didn't quite happen as easily as it sounds… I was making an international call, and ran out of units in the middle of giving some long (and, I might add, rather enthusiastically solicited) explanation of M.'s unusual name. Imagine, if you will, your plucky narrator sprinting across the airport lobby to the phone units machine so she can continue her explanation of the origin myths of obscure Slavic saints.

My friends, familiar with Gabane, had no trouble finding the place and depositing the cat there.

A few days after New Year's, I received the following email from the proprietress of the cattery:

I thought I would drop you a line to tell you that your little cat Methodious had a lovely stay here at my Cattery,
He started off very defensively by puffing himself up 'till he even impressed himself and he spat at all of us for the rest of the first day.
He let himself out early and made friends with Sushi Alexander a very crotchety seven year old lilac point Siamese, Sushi and Methodius looked for each other when quiet time started each day but did their own thing once all the others were up and about.
He played with Felix, Oscar, Max and Squeak all a tad older than he. He loved a cuddle and has a huge purr for his size.
I took his collar off while he was here, it seemed to attract too much attention from the adult cats for some reason. When your friends came to collect him I knew I was forgetting something and this turned out to be his Paddington bear. So sorry but perhaps when you come to Gaborone you can collect it and see the Cattery.
I enjoyed his little visit.
Wishing you a happy New Year 2007.

... all of this for P20/day. Can you imagine? When I went to pick up M's stuffed Paddington, I discovered that my friend Pinky's suspicions regarding the proprietress' proclivity towards mince pie were correct. The proprietress sat our doughty heroine down with a plateful, soliciting in return her reasons for being in Botswana specifically and her biography generally.

It took me three hours to extract myself from the cattery, by which time I had heard more than I really needed to hear about the proprietress' conflicted social relations with neighbouring and labouring Batswana, and Zimbabweans; her thoughts on my research; her thoughts on the history of southern Africa; and the general organisation of, and challenges posed by running, a cattery. By the time I left, I had a book to borrown and an open invitation to stay for a weekend in the 'guest wing' of the proprietress' house (as long as I didn't mind the parrot). I can't say I didn't enjoy myself on some level, though this encounter was somewhat reminiscent of a certain grandmother of my acquaintance, minus the bad temper and plus an entire apparatus dedicated to cats.