Baba
Posted by Erich Shelton on Sunday, October 18, 2009
Under: Short Stories
As the bus jolted and jiggled on windy roads the only thought that came to mind was one of the classic Lucille Ball sketches where she is eating chocolate on a conveyer belt as it speeds up; getting more and more frantic in trying to get things under control, without success.
My wife, two Greek friends, and I were heading to Halkidiki in northern Greece for a long weekend of relaxation. The sun was warm, but not too warm. It had been a busy week and when a friend’s invitation came to go to a bungalow for the weekend, it was too much of a temptation to resist. Just the perfect getaway from the hustle of Thessaloniki where we lived. With our food for the weekend packed, swimming costumes and other basics, we headed out from the bus station. The journey was only a couple of hours, if that, but it seemed eternity. This is because we had nobody to watch Baba. There was no choice. She had to come with us.
Entering the bus, it was filled with mostly elderly passengers, most of whom were women. As was the custom, no matter what the temperature outside, they were dressed in the traditional black garb. Black dresses, black scarves, black shawls, black shoes and black stockings– all to show they were widows. Once dressed in black, always dressed in black. Finding empty seats in the rear of the bus, the doors rattled closed. We were off on our ‘hollies’ (short for holidays) and nothing could keep us now from pure unadulterated self-absorption. What was about to happen wouldn’t have been so traumatic had Baba been black. She would have blended in with nobody the wiser. However, Baba was a beautiful grey and white cat who we had rescued from an eccentric lady in the city.
This is not to say she wouldn’t have been well cared for. Her previous owner was definitely a cat lover; perhaps an understatement. She had 19 cats and one of those had just produced a litter when we found our little bundle of joy. Baba was one of the newest arrivals and irresistible upon sight. Entering the home there was an overpowering smell of cats and urine. Excusing myself to the loo, while my wife checked out the new litter, I was greeted by not only cats, but noticed the bathtub was used as a litter box. Our host said she washed it all down the drain every night, but evidently had missed the last fortnight. I couldn’t help but wonder where she bathed. It was not a pretty vision and I will leave it at that! Choosing Baba was fairly straightforward and as newlyweds, she made our home complete. Baba, Afrikaans for ‘baby,’ was indeed our little girl.
Everything remained relatively quiet on the bus apart from the occasional howling noise from the box between my feet. As we veered and bumped along the uneven roads the noise became increasingly loud. Trying to console Baba and prevent people from staring at us I innocently reached my hand through the opening in the box and started to pet her. This was my first mistake. Actually, this was my second mistake. The first was believing the silly notion that we could travel with a cat without incident.
As the meowing and growling escalated, Baba’s fine grey and white hair began to rise from the box. Like the Great Ascension itself we suddenly found ourselves caught up in the rapture. Carrying animals on buses wasn’t uncommon nor a problem in itself. I had seen chickens and goats on buses, so carrying a cat wasn’t really the issue. The very serious and mournful widows were held in quite high honour within Greek culture and we were about to desecrate this reverence with fluffy handfuls of white and grey.
The now heightened anxiety in Baba produced more hair that I figured she had on her body. Where it was coming from I still can’t imagine. Trying to remain inconspicuous my wife and two friends began an unsuccessful attempt to grab the fine hair with their hands. Baba was trying to escape from the box and the only way to keep her inside now was to move the box from the floor to my lap and push her back inside. With one hand on her, my other hand joined the futility in capturing the hair floating around the bus. For each hair that was caught ten more escaped our clutches.
Much to my horror, it looked like Christmas in July. Handfuls of white fell silently on the unsuspecting blackness. Like Lucy’s chocolate escapade, we lost the battle but wouldn’t dare acknowledge it. We kept on fighting, hoping the highly revered widows wouldn’t notice.
The trip took 8 days. My wristwatch declared only an hour and a half. I’m convinced the battery had stopped. Either way, we were finally let off the bus, thanked our driver and wished our fellow passengers a good rest of the trip. The only thing I can imagine is that because we were foreigners they failed to say much. There is absolutely no possibility they couldn’t have seen or heard the unsuspecting drama that we had just experienced, even though the ride was otherwise noisy. As the last one off the bus, I looked backwards and saw a few of Baba’s hairs still whirling around in the air. The ladies normally dressed in total black had been unsuspectingly updated to a fashionable salt and pepper style. I quickly stepped onto the ground and was relieved when the squeaky door flapped shut.
In comparison the rest of the weekend was uneventful. We managed to temporarily forget the event. I was very surprised when we let Baba out of her box she had any fur left. I was expecting to now own a Sphynx. I did have a greater suspicion about how these hairless cats came about. It was surely a bus ride.
For a couple days we had bliss. The sun was great. Relaxation came. We rented some scooters. We explored the area. We grilled out. We laughed. We sang. We swam. And then we stopped. Realisation that we had to now get home with Baba invaded our fun.
Our Greek friends would know what to do. Trying several places we were unable to find a veterinarian so resorted to a local chemist for help. They prescribed a little yellow tranquilizer that was normally used to sedate people. With instructions in hand we returned to our bungalow and proceeded to shove the magic pill down the cat’s throat. Spitting, scratching and more howling evolved. We were uncertain it all went down her as yellow mingled with cat slobber and our blood. As a preventative we took the second yellow pill (not to be given at the same time) and continued the wrestling match. There was not going to be a repeat performance on our ride home. I massaged Baba’s throat with determination. We finally won!
However, still reluctant, we hesitantly mounted the bus and found our seats. There was no escaping the black dresses. Déja vu was knocking at our door. I nervously looked around and hoped these weren’t the same ladies from our previous journey. They all looked the same to me. I gave a half-smile as I sat down and prayed like I had seldom done before.
In less than 90 minutes we were dropped off in the city centre and breathed a sigh of relief. No drama. No hair. Hallelujah– there is a God.
Returning home we let Baba out of her box and much to our dismay she fell over on her right side. Standing her up again, she fell over –plop. Down she went. “Let’s try that again,” I said non-chalantly, trying to console my new wife as tears formed in her eyes. PLOP. This time she fell on her left side, legs straight as iron. We had overdosed poor Baba but were afraid to tell anybody. She lay there for quite a while, only able to let out a weak ‘meow.’ Thankfully after some hours with us by her side, overcome with Catholic guilt (though we weren’t Catholic), she began to come around. First her front left paw moved. Later it was the swish of the tail. Little by little her actions became more fluid. Her voice started to return to normal and in those moments I was glad I didn’t speak cat language. I’m sure curse words were escaping from her mouth, which still drooped slightly on the right. Finally, her right ear twitched and she drunkenly was able to lift her head. Maybe I wouldn’t have that divorce after all. (That came later, but that’s a different story!)
I knew the next morning all was well. At 7:00, exactly on schedule, Baba was seen flying from the clothes armoire beside our bed to nose-dive us and wake us up. Unfortunately I was the one closest to the wardrobe. I am convinced her claws were extended significantly further than normal that morning as she landed on my head.
My wife, two Greek friends, and I were heading to Halkidiki in northern Greece for a long weekend of relaxation. The sun was warm, but not too warm. It had been a busy week and when a friend’s invitation came to go to a bungalow for the weekend, it was too much of a temptation to resist. Just the perfect getaway from the hustle of Thessaloniki where we lived. With our food for the weekend packed, swimming costumes and other basics, we headed out from the bus station. The journey was only a couple of hours, if that, but it seemed eternity. This is because we had nobody to watch Baba. There was no choice. She had to come with us.
Entering the bus, it was filled with mostly elderly passengers, most of whom were women. As was the custom, no matter what the temperature outside, they were dressed in the traditional black garb. Black dresses, black scarves, black shawls, black shoes and black stockings– all to show they were widows. Once dressed in black, always dressed in black. Finding empty seats in the rear of the bus, the doors rattled closed. We were off on our ‘hollies’ (short for holidays) and nothing could keep us now from pure unadulterated self-absorption. What was about to happen wouldn’t have been so traumatic had Baba been black. She would have blended in with nobody the wiser. However, Baba was a beautiful grey and white cat who we had rescued from an eccentric lady in the city.
This is not to say she wouldn’t have been well cared for. Her previous owner was definitely a cat lover; perhaps an understatement. She had 19 cats and one of those had just produced a litter when we found our little bundle of joy. Baba was one of the newest arrivals and irresistible upon sight. Entering the home there was an overpowering smell of cats and urine. Excusing myself to the loo, while my wife checked out the new litter, I was greeted by not only cats, but noticed the bathtub was used as a litter box. Our host said she washed it all down the drain every night, but evidently had missed the last fortnight. I couldn’t help but wonder where she bathed. It was not a pretty vision and I will leave it at that! Choosing Baba was fairly straightforward and as newlyweds, she made our home complete. Baba, Afrikaans for ‘baby,’ was indeed our little girl.
Everything remained relatively quiet on the bus apart from the occasional howling noise from the box between my feet. As we veered and bumped along the uneven roads the noise became increasingly loud. Trying to console Baba and prevent people from staring at us I innocently reached my hand through the opening in the box and started to pet her. This was my first mistake. Actually, this was my second mistake. The first was believing the silly notion that we could travel with a cat without incident.
As the meowing and growling escalated, Baba’s fine grey and white hair began to rise from the box. Like the Great Ascension itself we suddenly found ourselves caught up in the rapture. Carrying animals on buses wasn’t uncommon nor a problem in itself. I had seen chickens and goats on buses, so carrying a cat wasn’t really the issue. The very serious and mournful widows were held in quite high honour within Greek culture and we were about to desecrate this reverence with fluffy handfuls of white and grey.
The now heightened anxiety in Baba produced more hair that I figured she had on her body. Where it was coming from I still can’t imagine. Trying to remain inconspicuous my wife and two friends began an unsuccessful attempt to grab the fine hair with their hands. Baba was trying to escape from the box and the only way to keep her inside now was to move the box from the floor to my lap and push her back inside. With one hand on her, my other hand joined the futility in capturing the hair floating around the bus. For each hair that was caught ten more escaped our clutches.
Much to my horror, it looked like Christmas in July. Handfuls of white fell silently on the unsuspecting blackness. Like Lucy’s chocolate escapade, we lost the battle but wouldn’t dare acknowledge it. We kept on fighting, hoping the highly revered widows wouldn’t notice.
“Me-o-o-ow.”On and on it went, mile after mile….bend after bend.
“There it is.”
“Missed it.”
“Me-o-o-o-o-ow.”
“Quick, grab it - Shh.”
“Missed again.”
“Why? They don’t understand English…”
“Gr-rr-oo-owl.”
“I don’t care. Hurry. You missed again.”
"Uh-oh."
The trip took 8 days. My wristwatch declared only an hour and a half. I’m convinced the battery had stopped. Either way, we were finally let off the bus, thanked our driver and wished our fellow passengers a good rest of the trip. The only thing I can imagine is that because we were foreigners they failed to say much. There is absolutely no possibility they couldn’t have seen or heard the unsuspecting drama that we had just experienced, even though the ride was otherwise noisy. As the last one off the bus, I looked backwards and saw a few of Baba’s hairs still whirling around in the air. The ladies normally dressed in total black had been unsuspectingly updated to a fashionable salt and pepper style. I quickly stepped onto the ground and was relieved when the squeaky door flapped shut.
In comparison the rest of the weekend was uneventful. We managed to temporarily forget the event. I was very surprised when we let Baba out of her box she had any fur left. I was expecting to now own a Sphynx. I did have a greater suspicion about how these hairless cats came about. It was surely a bus ride.
For a couple days we had bliss. The sun was great. Relaxation came. We rented some scooters. We explored the area. We grilled out. We laughed. We sang. We swam. And then we stopped. Realisation that we had to now get home with Baba invaded our fun.
Our Greek friends would know what to do. Trying several places we were unable to find a veterinarian so resorted to a local chemist for help. They prescribed a little yellow tranquilizer that was normally used to sedate people. With instructions in hand we returned to our bungalow and proceeded to shove the magic pill down the cat’s throat. Spitting, scratching and more howling evolved. We were uncertain it all went down her as yellow mingled with cat slobber and our blood. As a preventative we took the second yellow pill (not to be given at the same time) and continued the wrestling match. There was not going to be a repeat performance on our ride home. I massaged Baba’s throat with determination. We finally won!
However, still reluctant, we hesitantly mounted the bus and found our seats. There was no escaping the black dresses. Déja vu was knocking at our door. I nervously looked around and hoped these weren’t the same ladies from our previous journey. They all looked the same to me. I gave a half-smile as I sat down and prayed like I had seldom done before.
In less than 90 minutes we were dropped off in the city centre and breathed a sigh of relief. No drama. No hair. Hallelujah– there is a God.
Returning home we let Baba out of her box and much to our dismay she fell over on her right side. Standing her up again, she fell over –plop. Down she went. “Let’s try that again,” I said non-chalantly, trying to console my new wife as tears formed in her eyes. PLOP. This time she fell on her left side, legs straight as iron. We had overdosed poor Baba but were afraid to tell anybody. She lay there for quite a while, only able to let out a weak ‘meow.’ Thankfully after some hours with us by her side, overcome with Catholic guilt (though we weren’t Catholic), she began to come around. First her front left paw moved. Later it was the swish of the tail. Little by little her actions became more fluid. Her voice started to return to normal and in those moments I was glad I didn’t speak cat language. I’m sure curse words were escaping from her mouth, which still drooped slightly on the right. Finally, her right ear twitched and she drunkenly was able to lift her head. Maybe I wouldn’t have that divorce after all. (That came later, but that’s a different story!)
I knew the next morning all was well. At 7:00, exactly on schedule, Baba was seen flying from the clothes armoire beside our bed to nose-dive us and wake us up. Unfortunately I was the one closest to the wardrobe. I am convinced her claws were extended significantly further than normal that morning as she landed on my head.
In : Short Stories
Tags: greece
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I currently teach graphic design and illustration at the University of Southern Indiana. I really love teaching and the challenges which this provides me. It not only keeps me young, but forces me to be that ongoing learner; sometimes referred to as a life-long learner. This goal of continuing to learn as finally brought me back to the role as a student as well. Some years ago I started and MFA, but due to an automobile accident was unable to complete it.
I have just been accepted as a student at the Academy of Art University in San Francisco and will finally be able to work on the MFA. The great thing is I can continue working at USI and will visit the AAU in the summer. The rest of the time I am able to take my courses online.
Like technology and life, it is constantly changing and evolving. What a joy to be part of it all!
