Pixie in Paradise

And just like that, I fell in love with another guy. Golden green eyes this time, not usually what I go for.

Sitting on the floor after dark, curtains still open and the kitchen light on behind them, I look out to see the host of this beautiful property bringing two new guests to the casita attached to mine. Mo is social to a point but very wary of strangers and never ever thrilled with four-legged ones, dog or otherwise. He isn’t thrilled with the movement or noise outside our home. After a couple of trips back and forth to bring their luggage to the new rental, one of the men looks into my kitchen and sees me sitting on the floor. I say hello and tell him that I’m not crazy but there’s a cat on the floor who’s eating. Without even thinking about it I say that in English. Luckily, he understands and seems completely unfazed by my announcement. Mo, on the other hand, not thrilled.

Mo is a gorgeous stray tabby tomcat with a glorious black and gray ringed pattern on his tail. It makes him look like a lemur, but that head is all tomcat: round, strong neck and thick “tomcat cheeks” they use in fights. My darling Pesto has those tomcat cheeks too, apparently male cats grow them when they aren’t neutered early in life. Like Pesto (my cat son back in the US), Mo and I didn’t meet until well into adulthood so we have to figure each other out.

When I moved onto this lovely property, I was greeted by the friendly owner/host and her large, equally friendly dog, Quatro. As I got settled and moved my stuff in, I noticed some small bowls outside, presumably for feeding animals. When I asked about them the owner said the bowls were for a cat that shows up frequently but isn’t always consistent because he’s leery of Quatro. The very next day Mo showed up! I knew it was him because he fit the description I had been given. He was shy in the sense that he wasn’t sure of me, but he was sure enough to inquire about his chances of getting an early dinner. Mo wasn’t a fully feral cat because he was clearly used to being fed by humans, even coming close enough for pets. Lucky for him I brought a few grocery items from my last place to this one including one can of tuna which I love, and apparently so does he. I opened the tuna suspended in oil and split it with him. Mo cleaned his plate and then we sat on my floor to get to know each other. He watched the door to make sure Quatro wasn’t coming over.

The next morning I told the host that Mo had made an appearance and how much I would love having him show up every day. (I also disclosed that he may be wandering around with diarrhea since the tuna was canned in oil and not water, but at least it was delicious going in. Plus, he’s a stray cat: he’s eaten worse). She was delighted – about the cat’s appearance, not potential diarrhea – and a short while later Armin, the groundskeeper (and handyman extraordinaire), handed over a small bag of cat kibble and I noticed he had also put two clean feeding bowls under the table outside on my patio. Well this was a great turn of events! A couple days ago I was living in a house with plumbing that may or may not work from one moment to the next, in a fun but very busy tourist town. Now I’ve upgraded to an aesthetically pleasing space with captivating, lush, tropical grounds complete with pool and hammock, five minutes’ walk from a pristine quiet black sand beach. And, I’m in the perfect relationship. A gorgeous male cat comes and goes as he pleases, lives outdoors on his own but cozies up to me once or twice a day when he wants a meal and his ears scratched. We have a brief conversation, he bites one of my ankles, then we hug goodbye until the next time. It sounds a little toxic but it works for both of us…

As of now it has been six days since I moved to this little casita and Mo walked into the front door. He is pretty consistent: breakfast and dinner. True to spoiled domestic pet form, he seems to know how to tell time but will show up early for his meals. For example, I had to get up at 4:45am today for a photoshoot but I normally sleep in until 5:30 or 6. Before 5am as I sleepily looked through the partially sheer curtains in front of the large glass doors, there was Mo! He was sitting quietly and patiently until he saw my feet and then he started hinting not so subtly that he wanted some crunchies. I didn’t have time to chat with him or give him milk, so I put some cat kibble in his bowl and left it outside the door instead of inside like we usually do. Reason being, he doesn’t want to leave once he’s inside, and I had to make my way to the beach soon. And this definitely wasn’t a time to give him any milk (oat milk is what we have in this house), because I tried adding it to his kibble last night and he had a strange reaction. The combination of milk to dry kibble caused him to act like he was being personally attacked. When I walked away and looked back at him – just in time – he was batting at his cereal in the bowl looking very confused. This was also causing the bowl to teeter back and forth, very close to tipping over, so I quickly lunged for it and separated milk to a plate, kibble staying in the bowl. Close one! I guess this is one of Mo’s idiosyncrasies that we need to file away but definitely remember. This strange habit is not near as concerning as his very stereotypical half-tamed tomcat behavior of biting or scratching when overstimulated. That behavior scares me the most because I went through it with my cat Pesto when he was still new to domestication. When cats see movement, they want to pounce. When they’re overstimulated – with petting, or otherwise – they pounce. If they’re feeling bitchy, they pounce. It’s why most people like dogs instead. A dog is rarely ever going to think to themselves, “Man, I am getting too many strokes on my back and belly, let me bite this lady.” It’s a pretty standard cat response though. I try not to shy away when it happens – as I’ve been instructed by my animal behavior guru aka the southwestie bestie who is also Pesto’s aunt and godmother. I do verbally scold him though – as if that will make a difference. What are you gonna do?

An hour after I left Mo with his breakfast, the photographer and I returned to my house to grab some casual indoor photos while we were trying to avoid a rain shower on the beach. You-know-who was still sitting in front of my door and walked right in when I opened the door, as per his usual. I asked the photographer if we could get a couple of photos with Mo in them since he was pretty much sitting right next to me anyway. And that is how stray cat Mo – whose real name is Mons – became a professional male model.

Later in the day I made a delicious bowl of pasta and blistered tomatoes with a tilapia filet on top simmered in white wine. This is a huge contrast to the kind of issues – and living situation – I had the previous week. The living space is wonderful, the sweet tiny kitchen with four-burner countertop stove is inspiring to cook in and I have a stray tomcat who thinks I’m his girl. Granted, he probably just acts that way because I feed him but I’m going to let it slide…just for this guy.