Feeling a bit sick after accidentally eating pig ear salad at the lounge in Shanghai Pudong airport.
I also spent an hour earlier in the day wandering around the building in giant circles, looking for the airport hotel, swearing and muttering to myself “I am not stupid, I am a doctor, this shouldn’t be this hard”. I think I may be dementing. Actually, I haven’t found the Chinese particularly friendly or welcoming today. If anything, they’ve seemed rather nervous of me. This could have been because of all the sotto voce muttering, of course. In any event, I’m going to tell you a sad story that my host mum told me a couple of days ago as a distraction.
I may have previously mentioned the cat that I have been cohabitating with for the past couple of weeks. I’m not a big cat fan, so I’ve been quite gratified to be ignored by this one – when he isn’t running away from me in fear just because I’ve walked up the stairs or come out of the bathroom. (Most cats make a beeline for me once they’ve figured out by some sort of cat ESP that I’m allergic)(No one talks about ESP anymore, why is that? Is it because it’s bullshit?) The cat’s name is Pierrot, after the creepy clown mime character (as opposed to Agatha Christie’s excellent Belgian detective, Poirot). What I hadn’t previously realized was that Pierrot used to have a brother. He was the handsome, friendly cat of the family, and he used to live with my host family as well, when they lived in Paris.
One day, Saïda was taking the two cats away on holiday on the train, as you do, but as she was walking through the Gare de Lyon, the door of the animal carrier sprang open, and the (better loved) cat leapt out and ran off. Saïda managed to close the door to keep Pierrot safe, but the other cat was nowhere to be seen. Well, the holiday was cancelled, and Saïda spent the rest of the evening trying to track down the missing cat. In fact she came back every day for the next ten days looking for the cat, and then intermittently in the weeks and months that followed. She and Jean François even spent a night trying to lure wild cats from around the station into a box in which they had placed cat treats. Lots of cats came for the food but sadly, never the one they had lost. That was five years ago, and it still makes them sad.
I don’t know how people cope with bad things in their lives. I know I haven’t the moral fibre to be able to do it, so I just have to hope I’m never tested. I do know about myself that my various epic failures over the years haven’t made me a better person. Rather, they have made me bitter and angry. Regrets! I’ve had a few – but then again – I make the best of the ones I’ve got by thinking about them over and over again. I’m pretty sure that muddling through life with your fingers crossed, hoping to avoid disaster, is not a particularly noble or honorable plan.
Have arrived in Auckland now, and rereading this post, I’m not sure what point I was trying to make. However, I’ve found it’s an excellent rule of thumb not to reveal more than a couple of character flaws per post, so I think I’ll stop there. If I can think of a better ending, I can add it later.