‘Of ware-selling Resident Cats and their machismo tendencies’

More from C:

We arrived on Monday to Isla de Margarita and sped across the island to reach Playa El Agua, a sandy beach with rolling waves and groves of coconut trees away from the water providing a respite from the hot sun. Lining the road, vendors were selling local art, necklaces, t-shirts with the Venezuelan flag; restaurants offered drink specials and pizza; thatched-roof, open-air bars enticed one to stop for just one beer; and dozens of tour companies boasted deals to Swim with Dolphins!, Snorkel!, Tour offroad in Jeeps!.

We went straight to our hotel – Costa Linda – a 22-room enclave of tranquility with hammocks inviting an afternoon snooze, red-tile walks leading around the pool, rows of tall double doors that open to white-walled rooms with exposed-wood beam ceilings. We took immediate advantage of a hammock in an upstairs patio area for an afternoon nap on an unusual rainy day.

For sure, we thought, this lovely little hotel has no mangy dog-companions partaking of scraps by the pool. But maybe a resident cat, Derek jokingly suggested. “Sebastian,” he said. “His name is Sebastian.” “Aha. Of course,” I responded, and settled into the hammock, letting my eyelids get heavy.

The day went on, with part of it spent at our little hotel paradise and part of it exploring the deserted misty beach in anticipation of the next day. And no sign of any animal life there at Costa Linda, save a hovering dragonfly considering his own reflection in the pool. “But where is Sebastian?” I asked, “He doesn’t seem to be around – maybe you should see what they say at the reception desk…” Miffed at my incredulity, Derek gave a raised-eyebrow “You just wait, you Doubter” look as we turned the key to our room. We decided to take one more spin in the hammock before dinner time, and Derek headed out before me. A split second later, he returned: “Come quick! C’mon”- I followed, and there, chasing a toad on the patio was a small black and white kitty that oddly looked like a Sebastian. Turns out, he is, in fact, real.

Last night we treated Sebastian to the last few bites of our beer fajitas and even pet him so his back pushed up against our hands, his tail raised high in the air. Since, we’ve determined the reason for Sebastian’s daytime absence from his hotel home – he is a vendor like the rest of them down on the beach, hocking his own wares and travel packages to passers-by in broken Spanish and English, since neither is his native language. His success as a salesman lies in the effectiveness of Shock, since rarely does one see a SalesCat, and when one does, the stupor of surprise often draws the wallet right out of that pocket. Sebastian is also a bit macho, treating the guys just a little better than the ladies, which partly explains his willingness to make himself seen when Derek emerged from the hotel room on his own. “I prefer that your girlfriend – and all girls – call me Mr. Sebastian,” he told Derek.

We have not yet seen him this evening but hope to hear about his day’s work. Our only worry is that he was one of several vendors carted off today in an afternoon police Permit bust – even the old man who sold us a painting was loaded into a paddywagon midafternoon at Playa El Agua. We weren’t able to see if a small black and white cat was in there as well…