Pancho the cat

It’s a fundamental law of life: los perros son de las personas, pero los gatos son de los lugares. And Pancho belonged to the streets of the pueblo.

Years ago, when I was living in Madrid, long before I had ever had any pets of my own, un amigo, James, told me that, while dogs belong to people, los gatos belong to places. James himself lived in a piso compartido, with an inherited cat, el gato del apartamento.

In the way of shared flats in foreign cities, the tenants came and went; some stayed years, others only months. The only constant was the cat, who had been there long before my friend or any of his compañeros de piso.

James told me that when someone moved out, before a new human tenant could be accepted, the aspiring inquilino would be interviewed by whoever was resident at the time and charged with accepting the responsibility of cohabiting with, and looking after, el gato. The way he told it made me think of the ancient Egyptians, as I imagined each new tenant solemnly enrolled into a priesthood, each willing to dedicate their lives to ministering to the needs of the household deity, dándole de comer, cleaning his litter tray and making catnip offerings.

Cats the world over demand this service, and humans, almost without realising it, become devotees of the small feline gods whose paths they cross. Sometimes, though, los humanos forget that they are merely servants.

James’s comment has been on my mind a lot recently as it seems that not everyone knows this fundamental law of life: que los perros son de las personas, pero los gatos son de los lugares.

I’m in the process of moving back to Spain after an absence of más de diez años. I’ll be moving to an area I know nothing about, so I’ve started to lurk on the FaceBook groups and pages of the new pueblo. One grupo in particular is frequented by ex-pat residents from all around the world but it uses English as its lingua franca. The group members come and go to their holiday homes in the town and post questions about shop opening hours and los horarios de los autobuses, about the programas de las ferias y fiestas, about vegetarian options in restaurants and where to buy Marmite or Hershey chocolate. They also talk a lot about animal welfare.

The Spanish aren’t generally known for their kindness to animals, but here in the pueblo, locals and extranjeros have come together to try and deal with the dreadful number of abandoned dogs and feral cats. They do their best to find “forever homes” for them, or, in the case of los gatos callejeros, they fund vets’ fees for neutering and then minister to them as they live out their lives on the streets.

While membership of these cat colonies fluctuates without much notice being taken, one solitary cat has become a local hero.

Pancho, named after the bar where he appeared as a kitten, has lived toda su vida on the old town’s main commercial street. It’s been una vida larga for a feral — some thirteen years hasta la fecha — and El Bar de Pancho has long gone. Now the cat camina por su reino personal, or dozes, blinking sleepily in the sunshine, worshipped by locals and visitors alike. He has a couple of high priestesses who make sure he is taken to the vet cuando conviene and who generally alert the congregation of any changes to the accepted and approved ritos and observances.

A couple of weeks ago, a post appeared on FaceBook to the effect that Pancho was dying and that the suma sacerdotisa wasn’t sure where he was.

Then, a couple of days later, someone posted that Pancho had been taken in and cosseted durante unos días when the weather was particularly bad, with the result that, “He looks content and much healthier.” But, although, “Clearly a peaceful and loving environment is what he needs right now and it really has done him a lot of good,” the woman who had taken him in wouldn’t be able to keep him as she had cats of her own.

So a call went out for someone who could give Pancho a place to stay, “during his last days.” The high priestess didn’t want him “to die alone in the street“, but she couldn’t take him in herself, and nor could any number of vociferous members of the general congregation, what with having cat flu on the premises, intolerant cats, alergias, dogs who “wouldn’t allow him in”, or invitados who might make him nervous.

A few discordant heretic voices raised doubts as to whether it wouldn’t be better to just take Pancho to the vet and have him put to sleep. At which point the priestess leapt in to assure everyone, “He’s not ill or suffering,” he just needed some “peace and love” durante esta última fase de su vida.

Despite the few who thought he might be unhappy en un lugar extraño, entre desconocidos, the high priestesses opinaban, “When Pancho was young and active, being inside definitely wouldn’t have been for him. But now he’s old and tired and things have changed.”

At last, someone came forward on whose property there would be “space and peace” and where Pancho would be very welcome, and he was taken, “to the best place he could possibly have found under the circumstances.”

Everyone was reassured and delighted by the “happy, welcome news” that Pancho would be able to “spend his final days in a lovely safe and peaceful haven en el campo.”

There was even talk of organising “coach trips” out to visit Pancho en su nueva casa. The FaceBook comment “Sweet Pancho, he is such a lovely cat. I’m glad he will live out his days being well looked after” was typical and everyone thought that this was the end of the story.

But I started writing this because I’d been reminded of James’s comment: Los gatos son de los lugares, no de las personas.

The latest FaceBook update from the high priestess says, “Pancho is back en el pueblo and eating like never before.” Well, yes, having made his way five or six kilometres a campo través back to las calles of his kittenhood, I’m not surprised he was hungry.

Her post continued: “He’s back, he made clear that this is where he wants to be. So this is where he’s going to stay from now on.” Perhaps more tellingly, despite having been instrumental in the original rehoming scheme, she ends with words I can actually agree with: “All I can hope is that those who think they know better, aren’t going to interfere.”

Postscript

A few months after the above, another Pancho update was posted on FaceBook. The local animal charity had decided that he was far too infirm to continue to live on the street and had spirited him away to be re-homed at the other end of the country. I fear 1,000 km will be too much of a challenge even for Pancho, though I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t attempt it.