by Tim McGhie
The year was a gloomy one. A suicide bomber had thinned out the tourist crowds and rug sales did not get off the ground. The big football clubs had crashed out of European competition and Winter was reluctant to stand aside and usher in Spring. Yet, the people of Istanbul were not all despondent. The hustle of the city continued beneath the echoes calling for prayer. As the mosques throbbed faithfully as they have done for centuries, refuge too could be sought in the city’s parks.
The weary metropolitan could, if he fancied, take in a spare hour at lunch or while away an afternoon if blessed with so much time. Yet, it was not only the fauna that could sooth in the green spaces of the city. A thriving population of house cats were on call to pur on demand. In exchange for a warm lap, a willing cat would lend its pudding socks. The fee? A stroke and a scratch on the belly.
Mystery shrouded the origin of this most civil of services. Some simply thought that a few too many kittens had escaped and had taken over the free space of the public parks. To them they were a distraction, but a harmless one. To others they were a valuable amenity laid on by the city authorities; an investment in the wellbeing of the locals. These people frequented the parks for some ‘zoo therapy’-as it came to be known-and often fed the animals. Others still saw the creatures as beastly vermin and a blight upon the city. To them the smell of the cats was repulsive and their presence was felt as a potential health hazard. Some were aghast to hear of a petition, with not a small number of signatures, calling for the extermination of the healing animals. Others were suspicious of the ghastly cavorting with vermin in public places.
One day a waitress was seen visiting one of the parks with a bag of left over food. It was said that she often came to the park to feed the animals with the uneaten sandwiches from a day’s trade. The following day the woman did not arrive for work in the morning as usual. When she could not be contacted the alarm was raised but her whereabouts could not be established. The same day an elderly local man came back from his lunch-break in a flustered state. Out of breath, his colleagues sat him down with a glass of water and urged him to tell them what was up. Horrified, he eventually told of how he had seen a woman mobbed by a heap of frenzied tabbies. Those who heard the story that day thought the old man had taken a turn and sent him home to rest.
Over the following days similar bizarre stories concerning the behaviour of the cats popped up all over town. The petition swelled with signatures of concerned residents, yet the number of visitors to the parks in fact increased in those confused days. Less than a week after the first incident an article was published in the city’s free newspaper about the healing power of the cats. The author zealously defended the animals and sparked a debate across the city. There was fierce protest to the article by those who feared the cats. Some made the-now seemingly dangerous-pilgrimage to the cat’s lair from far and wide. Queues of people could be seen jostling for a turn with a tom-cat. One woman led her aged mother through the growing crowd in the park. ‘It’s my last hope’, she said, ‘my Mother is close to the end. We have come to the park because we heard that the cats can heal her, inshallah’. Their struggle was a common one repeated all over the city. For these people the parks had become a place of hope. Others shuttered themselves indoors and peered out at the madness unfolding in their city. Days passed in this fashion as a tension grew like static electricity in the air.
One day the city awoke and the cats were gone. The lines of invalids and depressed dispersed to stalk the streets in search of a cat to heal their ailments. Some spoke with relief at the disappearance of the animals. To them the air had cleared as they ventured out again. A former regular at Yalova Cafe finally returned to her local coffee spot. ‘I’ve been holed up inside for days, you know, I knew the girl. It’s unimaginable what the creatures did to her, and those fools chase the beasts around stroking them. I’m glad they’re gone but I’m not so sure we’ve seen the last of them’.
To the pilgrims the scene was a desperate one. The old man again returned to work after lunch but this time his face was white as a sheet as if he had seen a ghost. He was finally moved to talk over a cup of strong coffee and described how a man in a wheel chair had held on tight as a woman struggled to tear a wailing stray from his arms. Her sick child wept and screamed as they tore the healing creature from limb to limb. Since that day he was said to twitch as he muttered under his breath. Those who knew him then said that ever since lowers his gaze as he walks through the streets as if to hide from some new and unseen horror.
At length calm returned to the city, but many theories circulated about the vanishing cats. Some said that they fled the attention they had attracted, perhaps taking to the city’s sewers. Others suspected the authorities of ruthlessly removing the cats by night as the city slept. Zealots spoke boldly of conspiracy theories as they hunted for the final resting place of the animals. ‘There’s a paper trail leading all the way to the Mayor’, they said.
Others quietly returned to their lives as they had led them before. Some of them longed for the comfort of cats to return. Others still never felt as easy in their city and skirted the parks on their way to work from then on. For them their city had changed in a way they could not describe.
Or so it could be in a city when you’re passing through.
