It's raining cats...

It actually has been raining for almost two days, but this is about something else. It's a funny anecdote that for some reason symbolizes much about life here.

There is a nice little restaurant where some friends and I often eat breakfast, and sometimes dinner. The head waitress is I think Karen but also speaks Burmese and English. Her name is Kay, or something that my anglophile ears interprets as Kay. Kay has an endearing habit of seeming quite upset if regular customers go more than a couple days without visiting.

I arrived early one morning to find the restaurant empty and Kay standing in the middle looking horrified and making that flapping hand gesture that seems unique to the female gender and transcends cultures and national boundaries. I paused, wanting to figure out what was going so wrong before walking into the middle of it. Kay then ran to the middle of the restaurant and picked up a kitten.

The ceiling there is a two separate shed-style tin roofs with the gap and various holes patched with wicker mats. When I got around to asking what was going on, Kay explained that the cat had fallen out of the ceiling. She carried the scared, mewing kitten around with her as she got my placement etc. I asked if it was her cat and she said no. She set the kitten on my table while taking my order and giving it to the kitchen. Then, to my surprise, she took the cat to the other side of the restaurant, pulled a chair out, stood on it, and placed the cat back into the ceiling.

I didn't inquire further, the logic of these events being obviously beyond my reckoning. However, in telling the story to other regulars, I heard a couple people say that they occasionally heard or thought they heard meowing and rustling from the ceiling/roof. For whatever reason, the way I felt watching it transpire is the way I feel most of the time here.