I’d been in Mazatlán for over a week and was pining for cats. I checked all the usual places, where I had seen cats in the past: Gus Gus restaurant café, and the parking lot of the Inn, where once a stray kitten was found. The bookstore had moved and presumably so had the bookstore cat. Mazatlán is not a safe place for cats.
Then, in the lush green lawn of our new resort, I saw one. I couldn’t believe my eyes; a good-sized tabby with dark markings and snow white paws. I neared slowly; the cat waited. I got close, moved slower, held a hand out saying “Gato gato” and “Kitty kitty” which most cats seem to inherently understand. The cat, sleek and well fed, held on just long enough to let me think I could approach, then he fled like a tiny cheetah across the grass.
I followed, slowly, to where he paused near the edging of palms. Close by lounged a young red cat, and beside him, another tabby. I stood and stared. How beautiful they were in the sun: how luxurious!
I took a tiny step and the three were gone, vanished like a mirage, in amongst the palm shadows. I walked back to my room, happy with my feline vision.
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