For Abi

I went to visit of friend of mine in London this week while I was doing some research at the British National Library. Alex works for Secondlife.com, which is cool; but his wife, Sarah, works for the State Department, interviewing applicants who want a visa to enter the US. This is not a job I could do. She has to review applicants all afternoon, approving or rejecting based on a set of criteria that she needs to nearly instantly assess. I would grow very bored of this very quickly, and start giving the applicants more interesting reasons for rejection.
"Sorry, the US is full up on Nepalese. Have you tried Iran? I hear Iran needs Nepalese people."
"America does not recognize your existence, or the existence of anyone named Augustus. I'm sorry, sir. That name has too many negative connotations for Americans."
"You want to get into the US wearing that shirt? Come on, man! This is the land of reality television superstars and strip-malls. There is no way you fit in in these clothes."
And so on. I would find it funny, but I doubt the American government would agree.

Despite having the ability to do so, Sarah never once flagrantly broke the law claiming diplomatic immunity. Not even for something small, like jaywalking, or stealing a Twix bar, but things I would have done.
"Excuse me...American needs this Wispa Bar. Diplomatic immunity."
I guess in larger countries, like England and Japan, there are scads of diplomats that don't do much more than interview potential visa applicants. In her last post, Bulgaria, she had more responsibility and the jobs were far more interesting: working with people to develop laws and what not. The only drawback: she lived in Bulgaria. Sofia, Bulgaria; not the most forward thinking of places, or uncorrupt places to live. Simple things like getting the internet up and running is very complicated.

One thing that Sarah and Alex did bring back from Bulgaria was their cat, Pavel (or Havel...I never got a good listen to the name). She was a street cat, found as a kitten, begging for food. Having since moved in with Alex and Sarah, she has adopted a rather prissy attitude, and was not exactly sure what to think of me. We had a tenuous relationship.

The first night, she spent several minutes sniffing me, thoroughly learning the nuances of my odors. When she was finished with that, she would make sure to keep an eye on me as Alex and I talked. Alex noted that, if I left my door open, the cat would likely curl up in the room and sleep with me. I am always a fan of cuddly animals. My dog was incredibly snuggly, and feeling a warm little body pressed against you is really comforting.

When I went to bed, I wasn't particularly tired. I left the door cracked open and read for awhile. After some time, I felt like something was staring at me. I looked around, and there was the cat, about an arms length away, sitting in the middle of the floor fixated on me. I moved over, leaving some space for it to jump up on the bed if it decided, and continued reading. A chapter or two later, I looked over and the cat was still sitting there, unblinking. Just watching. By this point, I started to worry that the cat was not watching me, but waiting for me to make a mistake that she could pounce on. I reached my hand out to let her sniff it and she slowly trotted out of the room.

I turned the light off and settled in for sleep, a long day of research ahead of me at the National Library. Not long after the lights went out, I heard the strangest noise coming from the hall, like someone had the cat by the tail, and was dangling said cat into a deep, resonant bowl. It was a mournful, throaty whine. I turned the lights on and the cat jogged back into the room. I held my hand out for it to sniff. Pavel took a sniff, and then, eyes locked on mine, took a swing at my hand. Dogs like to fight, and have a distinct stance that the dog will take when it wants to play fight or actually kill you. Cats seem to lack this posture. I looked for something to dangle and the cat pounced on it. We played for a little bit, and then I decided I needed to sleep. The cat was left the room once the lights were out, and I slept the rest of the night undisturbed.

The next day, I guess the cat decided I was only for playing with. I went to pet the cat several times, and each time I reached my hand out it took a swing at me. Unlike most cats I have known in my life, Pavel was not declawed, and thus left lots of little scratches on my hands and arms. Getting cut up by a cat becomes less fun quickly, so I didn't spend to much time "playing" with her. The rest of the day was spent with Sarah and Alex, and the cat was far more interested in them than me.

The last day, I woke while Alex was in the shower, and the cat was curled up on a blanket. I sat near her and went to pet her, again, allowing her to sniff me first. Again, she took a swing at my hand, looking her cat eyes on mine. I was really not interested in this sort of game, so I pulled my hand away. Then, feeling slighted, the cat slicked her ears to her head and hissed loudly at me. That was the end of our brief relationship. I know it pains it to know, but I decided with that hostile gesture that this cat and I were never going to be friends. From there on out, I spent the rest of the trip ignoring her. Take that cat.

I have never been much of a fan of cats. I don't understand why you would invite an animal into your house that makes it known with every fiber of its being that it doesn't like you (and it thinks itself better than you). Cats are like really annoying roommates that crap on the floor and openly hate you. Pavel has done little to dissuade me of this opinion.