Wet cat

I love cats but I can’t eat a whole one. Instead I prefer to observe them, feed them and worship them. In 2014 I happened to live in a country obsessed with cats. Yes, Japan. Neko nekooooo! This word is loaded with the same amount of enthusiasm as oishiiii or kawaiiii. 9 years later and I still have a cat tape. Because anything looks better with cats on it, period. Cat cafes are enormously popular in Japan. Due to a large number of visitors, the cats from the cat cafes are usually pretty grumpy. And who knows what they serve in cat cafes in China…

An army is working on your luck!

Cats bring good luck to the owner, after all, the beckoning cat maneki-neko was invented in Japan. In Miyagi prefecture there is a small island where cat population multiple times exceeds human population. Tashirojima houses 100 old people and around 400 cats. How did this happen? The island used to be a famous center for silkworm production. Rats are natural enemies of silkworms, so feline guardians were imported to Tashirojima to protect and to serve. Islanders fed them with fish and they happily coexisted together. Later on, the silk production stopped and cats quickly multiplied.

The Cat island is totally worth a one-day trip. I had a beautiful walk along the island visiting a cat shrine and cat-shaped camping houses. I’ve never seen so many cats in my life. Looking at them, I couldn’t help but wonder – how is this population going to end up? Cats had sick eyes, often missing ears and tails and they were forming gangs. Locals feed them with fish, but they are also surviving on tourists’ food. FYI, this is certainly not the only cat island in Japan. Are the inhabitants the luckiest people on Earth?

Europe is blessed with cat islands too.

It was August 2022 and I spent my summer holidays on a Greek island Lemnos. Every restaurant was surrounded by groups of cats begging for food. Not in an aggressive way, they were patiently waiting and getting their act together. These cats looked well fed and spoiled. Maybe they were building up fat reserves before touristless winter. Every day, while travelling across the island, I counted the number of cats that crossed my path. The maximum was 52/day! Let’s count one more cat into the list, because now, ladies and gentlemen, let me tell you a story how I became a cat myself.

I celebrate my nameday on August 23. For a kid, this used to be a wonderful opportunity to get more gifts, but nowadays I would even forget it if it wasn’t for my mum. In Greece, on the other hand, nameday is a more important event than birthday. I spent my last nameday in Thessaloniki with my Greek boyfriend Fotis and his family. As you can imagine, I was well fed like a Greek restaurant cat. I simply wasn’t allowed to pay anything back for the food. But I’m a smart cat, so I waited until my nameday, seized the opportunity and adopted some Greek customs. The person celebrating her nameday should invite her family and friends for a nice meal. Fotis’ brother picked an excellent restaurant called Βρεγμένη Γάτα (vregmeni gata) translated as “Wet cat”. I loved the name, but why would someone name a restaurant like that?

There is a Greek proverb “Like a wet cat”. It is used for someone who reacts in a way that makes it clear he has realized his mistake or his responsibilities.

Fast forward, a few days later I was enjoying the best fish and seafood on Lemnos. I had a blast lying on beach chairs and drinking cocktails (sometimes with cats as beach neighbors), but at some point I really missed running around. I decided to go for a 4 km evening run along the beach promenade in Myrina. Fotis was not happy about my idea, he found it dangerous. I insisted that he should trust me: “I run at night all the time, I am an experienced runner, I have walked the promenade 50 times already…” I felt like I was convincing my parents to let me go out. What a beautiful run! I saw a castle in the sky and I was almost floating accompanied by a sound of crashing waves. Suddenly I saw an opportunity to run even closer to the sea and I wanted to take a shortcut through a park. My shortcut lead to a monument and it was a dead end. No problem, I turned back to the main road. Two seconds later, while my head was still up in the sky, my knees were violently sliding on a rocky pavement.

I unexpectedly tripped over something while running at full speed. No idea what it was and I didn’t feel like investigating as streams of blood started pouring down my legs.

My first idea was to wash my wounds in the sea. Salty water disinfects, right?

I used to clean my piercing hole using salty solutions. My body was pumped up with adrenaline, so I decided to finish my run. I had to wash my knees again on the way back. The scratches were not deep, but they covered a large area and didn’t stop bleeding. I arrived to our room, silent. Fotis asked me how was my run. I replied: “Not so good”, while pointing at my knees. The descendant of the best sailors in the Mediterranean explained to the forest girl that sea water is not sterile and went to a pharmacy. As I was licking my wounds with iodine solution, Fotis decided to call me the wet cat (silent meow).

Fotis is secretly trying to convert me into a Greek. Since it involves feeding me with Greek food, my resistance is pretty low. Apart from lessons about philosophy, linguistics and marine biology I particularly appreciated acquiring new life skills, for example how to eat a fish with many bones. As a curious scientific creature I sometimes like helping his endeavors and asking deep practical questions.

I requested a real demonstration how to catch those delicious fishes on my plate.

Fotis’ father was born on Lemnos and a big part of the family still lives there. He has a cousin Nasos with a small fishing boat who knows how to catch fish! We bought cheap clothes and we were ready to go fishing any time. Unfortunately, the trip had to be postponed due to windy weather. After all, that’s what Lemnos is famous for. Finally, one evening, the wind calmed down. Nasos picked us in the port around sunset. The boat was driven by his friend, a co-owner of the boat. As we were heading to the open sea, Nasos prepared frozen shrimps and sardines as baits. We dropped the anchor on their favorite spot with underwater streams. The depth of the sea bottom was measured to be 32 meters and approved for fishing.

Even though we were in the open sea, we could still see the flickering promenade in the bay of Myrina. As we watched the sun go down above the sea, Nasos turned on the radio playing classical Greek songs. I learned how to use a fishing rod with a small weight to catch bottom fish. My excitement grew every time I felt a slight pull on the nylon. I managed to catch a few small fish, a few dangerous fish and even a few big fish! The dangerous fish is not tasty, has pointy teeth and cannot be unhooked so easily.

My biggest pride weighed around 600 grams. It put up a good fight on the way up, let’s honor its memory!

The experienced guys caught fish from a smaller depth using a multi-hook string. Four hours passed without me noticing. I remember the sparkling moonlight reflections and deep silence while patiently waiting for our next victims. 

We returned back with a box of ice full of food. Nasos and his friend would have an awesome lunch and share the rest with friends. When their friends go fishing, Nasos gets a part of the catch. I like this system, it’s the same in Slovakia when you collect too many mushrooms. My first fishing experience was a great success. Now I covered: 1) how to catch a fish, 2) how to eat a fish. I’m still missing 3) how to cook a fish (like a Greek), 4) how to recognize when a good fish is replaced by its cheaper cousin, 5) how to pick the freshest fish on a market or in a restaurant, 6) how to estimate the weight of the fish. Ehm, I have a long way to go.

Eating fish used to carry a certain trauma for me. As a 4-year-old kid I ended up in the emergency room with a fish bone stuck in my throat. It happened again when I was 13 and I went to the hospital by myself. When I grew up, I calculated that removing fish bones is simply too much work for a meal. I rather stuck with tuna cans. Nowadays, living with a Greek has opened a new world of food, the world beyond raw sushi fish.

As a child living in a landlocked country,

I used to eat fresh fish only during Christmas. My fish, my friend, was usually swimming in our bathtub.

OK, let me start from the beginning. A traditional Slovak Christmas meal is a carp (lake fish) with potato salad. Places that sell Christmas trees usually have a small pool full of carps. When you buy the fish, you transport it home in a water-filled plastic bag. At home, the carp is kept in a bathtub for a few days before Christmas. Children play with it, talk to it and create an emotional bond (or torture it). Sometimes they don’t understand the connection between fish on the plate and their carp friend. As you can guess, I never assisted its transition to the dinner table. Parents invent all sorts of lies why they had to give the pet away. When children understand that the carp is going to die, they often beg their parents to release it to the nearest river or lake. Once I managed to convince my parents to do so. We drove to a half-frozen river and set the carp free. Unfortunately, the carp died anyway from a thermal shock. I was happy for a while until I found out the truth. Guilty as charged for its death, I decided not to resist and eat my Christmas carp. I learned a lesson here – once you kill a cow, you gotta make a burger!

According to our Slovak tradition, when you keep a carp scale in your wallet, it brings you good luck. Carp leftovers were always consumed by our cat. I imagine that she was dreaming of a cat island back then…

Take me down to the paradise city,
where the fish is fresh and always plenty,
oh, won’t you please take me home!