Theo Rescues Us In his First Moroccan Riad

 We're excited to be on the road, on our way to Fez (or Fes) in Morocco. We pass a lush countryside of poppies, prickly pear trees, olive trees, and finally arrive in the "Medina," or old city, which was named an UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1981.

We're staying at a Moroccan Riad in the Medina, which used to be an estate owned by the wealthiest citizens, merchants and courtiers. Today most Riads have been converted into boutique hotels or guesthouses. 

For us, the Riad is an oasis, a living space that separates you from the other tourists, people trying to sell you things, and/or motorbikes. In the summer the Riad is cool (with no need for AC).

Imagine a regular looking wooden door which opens into a garden courtyard, replete with a fountain, swimming pool, fruit trees and birds which fly overhead--in short, it's a luxurious outdoor space that is both private and breathtaking. 

Theo, our gangster cat, immediately loves the Riad. When he hears the birds tweeting, he is fixated, adopting his usual stalkerish behavior because as he meows to me, "I'm a cat, Mom."

He's also determined from the get go to sniff his way around. Where we are easily lost, as we move through exterior to interior places, trying to find the stairs that will lead us to our bedroom, Theo seems to know the way.

"Where are we?" I whisper to Dan.

Theo magically appears.

"Follow Theo," Dan suggests.

Sure enough, he knows the stairs to take, the rooms to cross, and even the elevator which will take us to the right hallway. Our bedroom is as big as some small apartments in New York City. There is a sleeping area, a sitting area, and enormous bathroom and even a small space that opens up so you can look down to the pool and admire the intricate tile work on the walls. 

As we eat lunch and then relax upstairs, Theo wanders. I suspect he's making a map in his head of the best way to negotiate the space. He can't get lost, but he can remain hidden for hours. 

Tell me a cat who can live inside and yet still stalk birds? 

"We're only here for a few days," I tell him later in the evening.

He gives me own of those head tilts as if he can't quite believe the bad news I'm telling him. If we were to vote on it--stay here or continue our tour of Morocco, I know what Theo would vote for--I can imagine his paw in the air voting, waving his answer. 

The best part is the magnificent view of Fez from the patio on the second floor. Priceless. But for Theo, his view of a bird careening through the air is much more alluring. And priceless.

Theo Visits the Andalusian Gardens

 Theo isn't shy about where he wants to and doesn't want to go. Anyplace with street cats is, of course, his preferred destination. When we mention the famous Andalusian Gardens, he hesitates.

"Okay, there might be some street cats there." I don't say the other half of the statement-there might not be some street cats there.

The Andalusian Gardens in Rabat, Morocco, is where you want to go if you're looking for a peaceful green space tucked inside historic fortress walls of the Casbah of the Udayas. The French laid out the garden in 1915 to mimic the traditional Andalusian and Islamic garden layouts from southern Spain. Lemon trees, sweet smelling orange trees, jasmine, and bougainvillea perfume the air. The walkways are shaded, interspersed with marble fountains.

Yes, there are street cats. Well, these particular fur babies are considered residents of the gardens so here is yet another option for Theo. 

"Do you want to live here?" I ask him, when he spots a black cat lurking amidst the plants.

Theo actually considers the possibility. We have been many places together but I guess the allure of so many other cats living in one place so peacefully is getting to him.

My heart is in my throat. He has to meow no, I think to myself.

He rubs against my leg. That's his answer. He's mine and I'm his. Even the beautiful and mystical Andalusian Garden is not enough to lure him away. 

Theo and the Moroccan Street Cats

 Ask Theo, the gangster cat, why he wants to go to Morocco, and he meow answers that he knows for a fact (how he knows we don't know) that cats are revered in Morocco. Muslims (Morocco is about 99% Muslim) see them as clean animals. The Prophet Muhammad showed them great compassion, and from a religious perspective, they are considered pure and clean. From a practical perspective, the cats protected the libraries and homes from mice and other pests. 

I want to go to Morocco for an entirely different reason--inspired by a song. Years ago the rock group Crosby Stills and Nash put out a song called "Marrakech Express." The story goes that Graham Nash visited Marrakech in 1966. He traveled by train and decided to leave his first class compartment to see how the real Moroccans lived. What he saw became the basis of the song--the ducks, and pigs and chickens on the train, charming cobras in the square, striped djellabas. And, of course there's the movie Casablanca with Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman. But that's another story.

Theo insists we talk about the cats first. Street cats are everywhere in Morocco and like most countries that have a warm climate most of the year, these street cats are what the locals call "community cats." They are respected and tolerated and even treated like guests. They are taken care of and fed by the people around them. 

You see the street cats in the ancient open air markets, outdoor restaurants, walking along the street . . . ready for a handout, grateful for any left over food. They're even allowed in the mosques. 

It wasn't long before Theo and I make it our mission to gather left overs in any empty container we might have--a napkin, a cardboard box--and feed the cats we come across. The locals don't mind, and we feel good.

Some of Theo's friends along the way:

Besides being a place where cats are loved, here's what you need to know about Morocco: It's located in the western region of North Africa and bordered by the Atlantic Ocean and the Mediterranean Sea. It's eight miles south of Spain across the Strait of Gibraltar. Therefore, it is a unique blend of Arab, Berber, African and European traditions--Spanish and French. It has hot dry summers and mild, wet winters. Usually. (Of course, when we're here, there's a major snow storm that shuts the country down.) Roughly 20% of Morocco is the Sahara Desert. 

Morocco is a constitutional monarchy. Under the 2011 constitution the King appoints a Head of Government from the political party that comes first in elections. King Mohammed VI of Morocco has 12 official royal palaces scattered across the country. They are kept fully staffed and ready for the King.  

One of the palaces is in Rabat. It was built in 1864 over the ruins of an older palace. The complex includes large gardens, interior courtyards (housing the seat of the government), a mosque, guard barracks, and a royal college. Although Moroccans generally approve of the present King, there's grumbling about the need for 12 palaces when the money could be used to benefit the average Moroccan more. 

Three members of the royal family are interred in the Mohammad V Mausoleum:

Theo follows us up to the palace and into the mausoleum on the constant lookout for the street cats. He's disappointed that we don't see any cats at the palace or in the mausoleum. 

"These places are too grand and ornate," I whisper to him as we walk around inside. 

Theo gives me the stink eye.

"Don't blame me. Cats are revered here, but there is a limit."

Theo makes that face that says--you're wrong, Mom.

And then I get it. Theo has come here, all the way to Morocco, not because of the song or the movie, but to see the street cats. Does he want to be a "street cat"? Does he somehow admire their romantic, nomadic existence? Does he want to be a street cat that lives in the royal palace?

Theo, of course, denies it, but I wonder . . .