April 2010

Whew!  It has been a while since we have entered anything into our blog.  At the moment, we are back on the move, but taking care of some family business at Oak Harbor Washington for the next month.  Until we can post on travel again, we would like to introduce Rev. Dennie - SFC, US Army Retired, (Callsign: Padre).  Dennie is currently working in Iraq so he and his wife can fullfill their dreams and become full-timers in the near future.  They also have four kitties and one of them has a special place in Dennie's heart.  We loved his story so much, we asked if we could share it on our blog.   Dennie is reading our blog from Saudi, so he will be able to view comments made by you.   Enjoy!

A Saudi Cat Comes To America

- Part 1 -

In August 1997, I received a call from a company in Saudi Arabia, that they needed people immediately to work in the Kingdom. There had been a vehicle bomb detonated at the Saudi Arabian National Guard (SANG) Headquarters in Riyadh and they needed security on the ground fast. I left for Saudi immediately. We arrived and went to work ensuring that the American compounds were secure by performing vehicle bomb searches and general installation security.

Let me tell you, the environment in Saudi Arabia, in August, is brutal. Temperatures at the screening site was around 135 degrees and 12-hour days were strenuous, both on the body and mind. Many a day, I dragged myself back to my room and fell face down on the bed to get a little sleep. Coming back to an empty room was demoralizing and frustrating.

A fellow worker went to one of the vet clinics in Riyadh to inquire about adopting a cat to keep him company. The process was relatively simple and, within a few days, he had a new roommate. I saw how it upped his spirits so, in a week or two, I also made a call to the clinic. The veterinarian told me that he several cats that were up for adoption and if I wished to do so, to come in after work that afternoon. So, after work that day, I drove across the city of Riyadh to see what kind of felines he had available.

Upon arrival, the doctor greeted me and told me that all of the cats, except for one, had already been adopted. He told me that the remaining cat had been brought in by an English lady who told him that her husband, a Saudi national, had informed her that she had to get rid of the cat and gave her the money to have it put down.

After bringing it into the clinic, the doctor said that he saw what a beautiful and friendly cat it was, so he decided that instead of euthanizing, to put it up for adoption. The doctor took me into the back room and, for the first time, I set my eyes on my new friend and companion. Here, sitting in a wire cage, was the biggest orange and white cat that I had seen in my entire life. He was HUGE. Not fat, just big and muscular. He sat there, giving me this once over look, like he was thinking "Now what do you want?". His arrogant look appealed to me, so I asked the vet how much it would cost to adopt him. He said "Well, his previous owner has already paid me to put him down, so I guess he has already been paid for. Go ahead and take him, if he's what you want.". I loaded him into the car and away we went, off to a new life together.

When we arrived back at my apartment (we lived on a compound, in a high-rise apartment building comprised of 4, 5 room pods per floor), I let him out of his cage and he walked out...well, like a king alighting from his royal coach. He took one look around and seemed to say "OK, I guess this will do, considering".

Weeks and months went by. It was nice to have a companion to come home to. Often, I would stop off at the restaurant and pick up lunch and take it back to my room. The cat and I enjoyed picking out the chicken and sharing it. I also found out that he loved cantaloupe. A strange food for a cat to like, but who am I to question a cat.

Not knowing what to name my new friend became a real problem very soon. I wanted to bestow upon him a good arabic name but, considering I didn't really know much arabic, what was I to call him. I thought of calling him something like Mohamed, but didn't really want to offend any of my Muslim friends.

 One night, I talked to my interpreter and asked for his suggestion. Asking me what words I knew in arabic. I told him that about the only word I knew, and used frequently, was the word that we used, along with the up-thumb signal, when we wanted the barrier gate lifted by our SANG guards. The word is "Quaise" and, in arabic, means "Good or OK". "So name him Quaise" he said. So Quaise it was. He seemed to be OK with the name. Heck, he didn't care what I called him as long as I didn't call him late for chicken or cantaloupe. We spent the next 7 months in the Kingdom and then returned together to continue our lives in his new country, the United States of America. I don't think he honestly looked back for a moment, as long as he had his new daddy, and I am so glad I made the call.

Quaise