In Istanbul, Cats are More than a Curiosity; They’re a Historic Legacy
The elegant calico strolled in from the street and through the dining room of our upscale Istanbul hotel, padding gently across the white marble floor, its striking orange-black-and-white coat drawing casual glances from guests speaking softly over their morning coffee.
I watched the cat glide between tables and chairs as though it owned the place, which in a way, it did. For this cat apparently was a regular. I was not.
The cat caught the attention of a waiter, and I sat back waiting for drama to ensue. A waiter chasing a cat around a restaurant with a broom should make for some good commotion and hilarity to start the day, I thought. But instead, the waiter simply hurried across the room and placed two small bowls — of the hotel’s good china, no less — one with water, one with food, against the restaurant’s far wall. The cat, indifferent to the five-star service, but expecting nothing less, sat next to the bowls, curled its tail, surveyed the restaurant’s human patrons and began to eat.
Though I was bemused and perplexed by this proceeding, no resident here would give such a thing a second thought.