What I´ve Learned In Costa Rica

Mestizo - (adj.) of mixed race.

Fede, my soon to be housemate from Argentina, describes it as a blending of cultures.

Enter our cat: the blonde-haired blue-eyed Tico.

He's been testing my limits for sure. He's got as much energy as Cain ever had in a little body not much bigger than my foot. He's wilder than any pet I've ever known. Everything is play. I'm constantly trying to save the lives of all the pretty moths and beetles that tragically happen into his range (and rarely last more than one round.), saving Karen's shoes. Reminding that there's an oversized tupperware container in the bathroom he should go in instead of my shower. Juanca suggested that all Tico cats pee outside. There's no mama cat to show 'em how it's done. So I started taking the little guy into the bathroom with me whenever I had to go. I'd plop him in his box, do my thing, say 'good boy' when he'd do anything a cat should do in a litter box, even if it was just throw litter around. Finally he got it. Sometimes.

I went back to leaving the front door open a few days ago. I need the breeze and he's not a prisoner. He knows where the door is, where the food is, by now knows where the love is if he wants it. (And honestly, sometimes he gets on my nerves.)

Today, I picked up shit for what felt like it had to be the final time or else. There was no electricity and no water to wash my hands with. Needless to say, the start of a frustrating day. I decided to go to Quepos instead of the beach, which seemed the most logical solution to lack of light and water. (duh.) My gut said if the growing cat had more room to move around, like in a life-sized litter box, he might be more prone to stretch out and do his thing there than in my shower stall.

I'd also spent my morning writing (gotta love battery power) and was hoping for electricity to use the internet.

As I was leaving, Mestizo ran into the little space alongside the house and the neighbors´ wall, where those crazy, bright red, tropical flowers that look like they're sticking their tongues out at you grow wild. I called him over and over again. Said to come in Spanish and English and, after awhile, an admitted assortment of curses. He sort of looked like he thought about it a few times, even ventured toward me once or twice, but openly decided he preferred to stay where he was. It took a little while, worrying about losing him, but I figured I'd probably rather be hanging out with the flowers on a beautiful day than trapped inside a tile house too, if I was him. I told him one more chance. Mentioned he might get wet if it started to rain. He didn't come. Fair enough. I went on with my day.

There was internet in Quepos, but I´d forgotten half the technology I needed to post the blog. The camera was in the lockbox back at home. It was safe and sound, but I had to do without it anyway. I went to the vet's office and bought Mestizo a bright green litter box. I don't know if cats can see color or not, but you can't miss this thing!

As I climbed the final step to the landing he stepped out of this little lair, shook off an obvious nap hangover and looked at me like, hey what's up. I opened up the door and showed him what I brought for him. He hopped into all his newfound space like it was the coolest thing ever. (I swear he even shook a deadfinger at me.)

We haven't had a single problem since.

The morals of this story:

Stop trying to control everything.
Love, no matter what.
Give everyone their proper space. The right ones aren't going anywhere.
Don't hoard things so much that you keep them from being used to their fullest purpose.
Fuck technology. Choose life, go to the beach.

Did I mention love? The little guy's snuggled up beside me like perfection.