Pixie in Paradise

Sundays can be real fuckers. Before this journey it was because I was anxious and unhappy to start the corporate America work week each Monday. When I lived on an island in Belize it was because we had an increase in humans then and the tourists went apeshit on the weekends. Now, I honestly can’t put my finger on it. I probably have great Sundays, it may just be my current mindset. To be honest it may just be this one. At the moment I’m hot, drenched and sweaty from just waking up from a nap and don’t feel very productive.

I’m being dramatic because I’m tired, having not slept in two days. Compared to anyone else’s Sundays mine still wins but, soon I will be returning to the desert I came from, in the US. Until then I get a daily walk – or three – on one of the most beautiful beaches and also live in an exquisite jungle. On the other side of that, I’ve moved back into my favorite casita on this property but it apparently no longer has a functioning fan. I’m battling for my life with mosquitoes that have seemingly grown three times larger and five times stronger these last two weeks. And Mo, my precious jungle cat, won’t eat.

The sleep issue and mosquito issue are separate yet intertwined, and both problems could be almost completely solved with one strong fan. All of the other rooms and casitas here have one or more fans that blow air well but also sound like small jet engines. While this hinders my ability to hear the beautiful sounds of the howler monkeys in the mornings, it also hides much of the human noise – music, loud voices, construction – and keeps 90% of all mosquitoes away. Luckily, two days ago I asked Armin to help me hang a mosquito net, moving it from one of the uninhabited rooms to mine. After all this time living in Central America this was a first for me. I’ve never used a mosquito net since the fans did their jobs most everywhere I went. 

I also had an amazing all natural (no chemical) bug oil repellent I purchased in Belize and have been taking it everywhere and wearing it night and day. The problem is, I am days from running out. I ordered an entire box of small bottles of this miracle product in late January and had it shipped to Costa Rica from Belize. It costs three times the price to ship from Belize to Costa Rica as it does from Belize to the US. The other fun thing is that this box has been stuck in Customs in San Jose for months, waiting for me to miraculously rescue it. It’s not going to happen. I needed receipts and a summary of contents from the seller which I still haven’t received and by the time I would have, Costa Rican Customs would have disposed of the box anyway. They actually charge a per day fee for a shipment occupying their space.

When I crawled in today at noon to take a nap after very unsuccessfully trying to sit down and write, I looked up and immediately noticed several small holes in the mosquito net! How did I not see these at some point in the last two days? They’re all pretty high up so I knew it wasn’t the cat because if Mo had tried to get on the bed and latched onto the net he would have torn it down from the ceiling. No, these little holes were tiny tears from vicious bloodsucking vampire bugs sticking their little butts into the mesh fabric trying to get at me. Having learned how to be so fucking resourceful in the last several months I remembered there was a spare piece of second skin tape leftover from the fresh tattoo I got a week ago. I grabbed it from the bathroom and the scissors from the kitchen and climbed into my bug tent. I’ve got ugly squares of clear tape up now with a black plus-sign pattern on them, randomly stuck to the top of my tent. It looks like those hideous acne patches women use to try to reduce redness and swelling on their faces. I sure hope this tape works better than those patches!

After about an hour sweating in this fishnet dreamland I opened my eyes and looked to the side and I am not kidding when I say there was a mosquito on the INSIDE of the tent, inches from my face. I was so mad I shoved his ears into his brain and out through his little toes. (I’m sorry, Mother Nature)! 

I washed my hands then went to see if Mo was still lying outside. He was. Raising his head to say hi to me I could tell he was really drooling and his little meow still sounds gravelly, which is the way it has sounded since I noticed something was off with him about five days ago. For two days he hasn’t eaten much and seems to be because of a mouth injury or tooth abscess or broken tooth or something. I’ve tried feeding him his usual favorites: oat milk, tuna fish, canned cat food and chicken broth with bits of chicken. None of that went into his belly today. I finally got a few small bites of very tender chicken into him but I had to put it on the floor instead of a bowl. You know the risk I take when putting food on a counter or floor in the jungle. In this climate you are asking for an infestation of great magnitude. Bugs and animals from the entire neighborhood will come a-callin’. As it is, I had to talk an opossum out of walking into my house with Mo this morning for breakfast! Mo was on the cushioned patio chair at 5am when I woke to check on him. He got off the chair and slowly turned around to stretch. At the same time he turned around, we both looked slightly past where we were standing to see a small gray animal start to slowly come towards the patio. Mo was definitely trying to figure out whether to forcefully escort him off the property or not. I told him “No,” then told the opossum not to come closer and encouraged Mo to come inside. I usually leave the door open but definitely not this time. By the time I set Mo’s food bowls down, I watched this opossum climb up and over the tree next to my roof and land somewhere in my yard. He should have come around a few hours later and would have had a lot of tasty leftovers. Mo wasn’t eating anything.

After my ineffective nap, I ran to the local store quickly in a Hail Mary attempt. Remembering back in Tucson, Pesto – the rightful heir to my throne – will no longer eat canned cat food if it’s in pate form. He will only eat canned food if it is in “gravy,” sauce. Seriously. I thought maybe Mo will eat the gravy stuff too. He’s eaten it before just like all of the other delectables I tried to feed today, but he just isn’t feeling well right now. I bought three packets of wet cat food in gravy, opened a chicken flavored one when I got home and Mo finally ate. So happy to see him finally getting some nutrients, I emptied the entire packet into the bowl for him.

I’m sure he’s got a significant amount of pain. For all I know he either just needs time to heal or he needs antibiotics, pain meds or surgery – or all of the above. He’s a stray, getting him to the vet could prove to be a pretty wild and hair-raising experience for all, so we aren’t thinking about that yet. Ultimately, having Mo in my life has taught me some wonderful lessons, but has and will teach me a few hard and heartbreaking ones as well. I wasn’t prepared to accept this in December, the first time I left. I’d like to think getting this second chance I received, and reframing the narrative, will help me accept the things I cannot change. That is, I will say goodbye to Mo forever next Sunday and there won’t be a miracle return for a few months, maybe more. And who knows where he will be by then? Let’s face it, I’ve been incredibly lucky that this stray cat has come back each day without fail to visit me and bring his love. I want to remember my time with Mo exactly as it has been, with him, in paradise – even on Sundays.