Pixie in Paradise

“The wilderness is a place that every believer has to experience to be molded for their divine purpose.” E’yen A. Gardner

I don’t exactly know what Armin was trying to tell me Friday morning, because of his rapid dialect and my limited brain cells trying to grasp it; and, because I was sobbing and hugging him. He either said he was grateful for me and I would stay in his heart forever, or that I needed to go to the doctor and get checked for heart worms. What prompted this was me trying to tell him in Spanish that I was going to clean and pack and be out of mine and Mo’s “honeymoon suite,” by 11, so he could clean the bungalow and be ready for guests to arrive at 3pm. I also asked him what I should do with a whole pot of soup I had in the fridge. When he said don’t worry, he’d take care of the greasy pot of broth with chicken carcasses in it, I lost it. Just sobbed. He smiled his huge trademark bashful smile and opened his arms for a big hug. Armin and I are about the same height so the hugs work. He’s a sweet guy and has worked so hard at Casa Vikingo for eight years. Now that it has been sold he will have to find work elsewhere and I hope and pray that he finds something wonderful to do that pays him well, so that he can support his wife and two sons. He is from Nicaragua so I know that he has to deal with passport issues every few months just like I do. Luckily, people traveling with a North American passport from the US are allowed to stay in Costa Rica for six months before having to leave and get stamped elsewhere, then returning if that’s what you desire. I know from now on that is what I will always desire…

Yesterday was my first morning without Mo since December 1st, with the exception of eight miserable days in San Jose right after Christmas. It wasn’t the best time I’ve ever had, but miraculously he and I were reunited once more. Mo and I were given three bonus months with each other and I will never forget that wonderful gift. 

I woke up at the usual cat feeding time and realized the cat wouldn’t be waiting at my door on the fifth floor of this urban high rise, so I rolled over and went back to sleep – for a whole hour and a half! I reawakened half-conscious at 7:30am, a time I never sleep to, even after a night of drinking and dancing. Why? There’s always a cat to feed. The sense of urgency to let Mo into the house as early as possible was because he was out prowling all night and I wanted to make sure he was alright. Back in the US, if I wasn’t up and throwing food and drugs into Pesto’s bowl by 6:30am he would come and sit in front of my face or stand on my chest to wake me up. Not a great way to greet the morning, but after this wonderful gift of time with Mo, I think the time I have left with the more senior Pesto, will have more meaning.

I spent yesterday walking around the center of town soaking up a little local culture, sights and smells – some of which were pretty bad. I took photos and videos and did some window shopping. Always hunting for places to sample a local coffee, I ducked into a cafe at the central market for a bit. After a complete conversation in Spanish, the barista switched to English and said they had menus in English and pointed to a table. Well shit, that was odd. I never once said an English word so I continued in Spanish, asking him if he thought I spoke English, and giving him a big smile. Who knows, sir: was it the blonde hair or the blue eyes that gave it away? I wasn’t even self conscious about it until then until I left the coffee shop and waded back into a sea of dark hair and brown eyes.

Returning to this modern apartment and all of my laundry I looked out the five-story window and smiled. Despite all of the mixed emotions right now, the transition, and the uncertainty, I am really, really happy. All of the sightseeing was a distraction, to forget that I had said goodbye to my beloved Caribbean jungle and my beloved cat, Mo. I knew I would have to and was and am as prepared for it as I will ever be. Today is the second morning without Mo. I pray he never forgets me yet I also pray he never misses me either. I told him I wasn’t abandoning him, that I didn’t want to leave him but that I had to. I told him to continue staying safe and to take care of himself. He’s an absolute little badass, I know he will be fine without me. That doesn’t mean the situation is perfect and it does make me very sad. I feel an immense amount of guilt for walking away from him and I doubt that feeling will ever truly go away but dealing with it to be able to move forward is what has to happen.

I look at it much in the same way Pesto came to live with me. Pesto was the wildest, most feral “domestic” cat I had ever seen and that’s saying a lot since I spent my entire childhood taming wild barn cats. The three barn cats I had at the time Pesto came into my life were beautiful, fully tame and killing every pest on my farm – along with some very sweet and beautifully colored birds that maybe shouldn’t have been gunned down in the prime of their life. Those adorable cats meant business and took their jobs seriously. Pork Chop, Pot Pie and Puddin’ (yes, those were their names) were the Chief Mousing Officers (CMOs) of the farm and kept rodents out of my barn where the goats, llama and mini horse lived. And of course, the chickens, who can forget Chick, Mick and Nugget?

Pesto let me tame him and he was just different from the other three. Those three were like Robin Hood and his band of merry thieves. They thrived in the woods and loved outdoor life. There was something about Pesto, I could feel it. When it came time to move to Arizona from Wisconsin, the animals went to another small hobby farm and the cats went to live in an alpaca sanctuary, happy to receive them. Pesto, on the other hand, was placed into a crate and driven 2,000 miles to the desert along with the dogs. He not only got used to living with the dogs but seemed to enjoy it, despite the fear he struck in the little chihuahuas’ hearts. That cat still adores his “luxury” life with me in the small rental casita we live in, sitting together drinking wine or coffee on the couch. He loves having his meals served to him, he can’t hunt anymore. 

Mo does both: hunts and begs for meals and I guarantee my resort wasn’t the only place he was getting meals. I think that cat had a circuit and strolled through all of the resorts in Playa Negra, gathering snacks everywhere he went. And I pray, fervently, that whoever is giving him the additional food is also giving him some extra love right now. Maybe he will forget me and that’s alright, as long as he stays content and healthy. As for me, I will forever be in love with my little tigrillo (oncilla), the king of the jungle.