No-one coming to Fez can be unaware of the number of cats in the Medina. The poor condition of some cats can arouse compassion in the most hard-hearted. Sometimes a little more is needed. Suzanna Clarke shares her latest cat tale with The View from Fez.
Hurrying to an appointment one morning this week in the Fez Medina, I barely gave the little black kitten huddled in a doorway in the Talaa Kebira a glance - until it looked straight at me. Then I gasped in shock. One of its eyes had the worst infection I’d ever seen; bright red and hugely engorged, protruding about two centimetres from its socket. The other tiny green eye just gazed ahead helplessly.
A passing tourist and I exchanged horrified looks and I knew we were both thinking - what can I do? There are thousands of street cats in the Medina, and kittens are a common sight; particularly at this time of year. I’ve seen many deserving cases I’ve had to harden my heart to.
I wasn’t in a position to rescue it, I reasoned. My husband and I were about to leave Fez for a while, and others would be caring for our house. It wouldn’t be fair to ask them to also look after a desperately ill kitten.
Going about my business until the late afternoon, the image of the kitten and its awful eye haunted me. I made a deal with myself. If I went back and it was gone, so be it. If it was still there, then I would have to do something about it. Just in case, I took a basket with me.
So I found myself trudging in the heat, around the Atlas district of the Ville Nouvelle, searching in vain for a vet. The pathetic mews coming from the basket spurred me on. It was late in the day, and at the first two surgeries the vet had already left. The assistants told me to go elsewhere.
The last vet was difficult to find. I asked a young man on the street for directions and he offered to show me the way. When we reached the vet he also came inside.
The vet was a man with a kindly expression. When I explained I wanted him to put the kitten down, he shook his head. “I can fix it,” he said in French, and explained the operation of removing the eye and suturing it. He also mentioned it would cost 700 dirhams. I gulped.
He appeared extremely reluctant to put the animal down. “It’s not a good thing to do in the eyes of God." If I wanted to take it to the American Fonduk they would do it, he explained. But that would mean keeping the kitten for a night – after which I knew I wouldn’t be able to put it down.
“But who is going to look after it if it has this operation? I asked. “I am leaving Morocco in a few days.” We all stared at the tiny black bundle on the operating table, suffering through no fault of its own.
“I will look after it,” announced the man I had just met in the street.
“Are you serious?” I asked.
“Yes, I will look after it,” he replied emphatically. “As God is my witness, I will feed it
le petit dejeuner, dejeuner and
diner every day.”
I had no idea who this man was, I explained to the vet . “I have only just met him, but if he really wants to take the cat, I will pay for the operation.” At least it would have the chance of life.
The would-be cat rescuer was Si Mohamed. After giving the vet his contact details, he showed me the restaurant where he worked. The staff may have thought I was there for another reason, because they were quick to tell me he is “a very responsible man.”
“That’s good,” I said, “because he is about to look after a cat”.
The next day I visited the restaurant with my husband, and Si Mohamed told us that the kitten was still at the vets’, as it hadn’t yet recovered from its massive operation.
Later that day Si Mohamed emailed us a photo. The kitten was groggy, but awake and on the mend. It may be minus an eye, but is one of the luckiest cats in the Medina to have been adopted by such a caring man, who showed compassion when it was most needed.
Tags: Moroccan Morocco Fes, Maghreb news
