Dubai….Sara called from the road and said guess what? A man I worked with in Saudi (she was there when George Bush declared war) wants me to come to his new college and it is in Abu Dhabi. I said “where’s that?” She replied “the UAE… Dubai?” That I recognized. And thus my first international trip was planned. I was coached on wearing appropriate clothing and keeping my mouth shut. I am not a person who takes orders or even suggestions very well, especially from men who think they are better than me based on the sheer fact of biological difference. I was apprehensive but excited and really had no idea what this trip would be like except that the marketing of Dubai looks very slick and enticing. It is not. Maybe it is in the middle east. I have no reference point. It seemed a culture and economy built on building, hollow underneath. We were there ten days, seven of which were spent in Abu Dhabi, the rest in Dubai. Sara had to work and I had to find things to do on my own so I spent a lot of time walking around. I felt completely safe, though I was at times a spectacle, being tall, blonde and clearly American. That was not necessarily a favorable thing either. I saw some incredible sights and I do enjoy experiencing different cultures, especially food. I am still caught up on my curry, thank you very much. However, there was one sinister fact that became overwhelming to me long before day seven. Cats. Stray cats everywhere. At night they came out in droves. I saw twenty plus around dumpsters. They jumped up in chairs at the restaurants with outdoor seating. And they were not healthy and not fed and they were kicked and screamed at. Seeing scores of sick and starved cats everywhere I went was not something I was prepared for. I immediately went in the bodega closest to us and bought bowls, food and water. Each evening Sara stood lookout while I crept into alleyways and bushes to distribute what I could. I looked online for any rescues or resources. There were none. I had been heavily involved in rescue work and it disturbed me to the core that there was no one to call. No one to donate my money to. Nothing whatsoever I could do.

I should back up and say that upon arrival to Abu Dhabi late in the evening, the streets were alive and things seemed so festive. We went to sleep and somewhere around 5am I sat upright in bed, startled by the loudspeaker and singing. I shook Sara awake asking what the hell? Of course I learned it is the call to prayer and that it blasts on loudspeakers throughout the city from every mosque four times a day. It was fundamentally upsetting to me. I felt like I was caught in some sort of cultish ritual. Call it naive, ignorant, whatever. I did not like it. The dichotomy of what I saw around me coupled with this overt religiousness blasting at me, men in my personal space insisting I buy their wares (women were not allowed to work in stores) and sick cats crawling around like vermin was more than I could take. By day seven, I could not wait to leave. Sara had a half day so I took a last stroll around the streets and came upon a very sick and thin cat. I reached into my bag for the dry food and water I kept and put it on the street. She was emaciated but more than the food she wanted love. She rubbed and rubbed on my legs and then I noticed she was a nursing mother. My heart sank. I took some pictures of her, told her I wish so badly I could do more. Crazy thoughts of “could I possibly get her on our flight” came to mind as I held my emotions in check. And then that damn call to prayer started blaring. At that moment I lost it. I cried and I said “God please get me home”. I had never taken seriously people who said they wanted to kiss the ground upon returning home but I said “when we land in Atlanta I will literally walk out of Hartsfield airport and kiss that beautiful red Georgia clay and I will never return to this place”.

I am glad I went on the trip. I don’t want to go back. As Sara and I agreed, it was a good experience we don’t wish to have again. I mean no disrespect to the Muslim religion or Middle Eastern culture. We are all different in this world and that is, as the saying goes, what makes it go around. And the UAE is the most “western” of the Middle Eastern countries. I do realize that.

Fast forward over ten years. I reluctantly created a farm Facebook account to keep up with horse showing events. Naturally, I began to follow some cat rescues. One in particular always piqued my interest. They seemed to have really involved cases and I found myself taking notice of their updates. And then I saw this post.

https://www.facebook.com/share/p/sDD19UAraN6eUJ13/?

The UAE cat.

I will never forget her.