The Cat Park

One thing that Genevieve insisted on doing in Buenos Aires was visit the botanic gardens. We already knew that this park wasn't known for any botanics, but for it´s unlikely hospice to about a million cats. OK, not a million, but you couldn´t be sure walking through.
G said it was like an Easter Egg hunt. Cats and kittens could be spotted at every fifth step, attending to various feline industries. Like laying around, rubbing against people, and walking on fences. Plus mewling, preening and guarding their young. We tried to play a game where we would make up a name for every one, we got as far as ¨Dirty Dave¨, ¨Baby Cow¨, ¨Dulce de Leche¨, and ¨Bruce¨ but it got tiresome as the cats came from every direction. They were mostly very friendly and would love to be pet. They had a great repartee and understanding of communication with humans, having lived in the city center their whole lives. Some would come up and whine, as if complaining about the troubles and annoyances they faced living in the park. We saw that a few had bandages and shaved patches. Veterinarians volunteer to come work on and probably fix the cats.
A few nights after we arrived, so did violent thunderstorms that brought insane waves of soaking rain. We fled away from Plaza Cortazar, flew back our hostel, stripped out of our sopping clothes, shied away from the air conditioner, and listened to the rain hammer the vast tin roof making an epic and terrifying noise.
We loved the dip in the soaring temperature and the babbling sound of rain on the roof, but then it occurred to us. What about the cats? They HATE rain! What do they do in these situations? They must have a contingency plan.
Over the next few days of eating and drinking, hanging around while the rain went on and off again, we mused about it. Do they all have a little ledge to stand under? A tree? Are they just inured to the weather? Or do they just stand there, wet and bitter, hissing at each other like, ¨Motherfucker, did you do this?¨
We went by a few days later, after we had gotten out of ¨King Kong¨ and the sky looked heavy. We looked at the ledges on the little buildings in the park... could they keep all those cats dry? No. We wondered if there was a brutal social order that reared it´s head when things got wet- big cats get the ledges, little cats can fuck off. Most of the cats seemed to be chilling, but we could feel there was a big shower on the way. One cat came up to us and seemed to be pleading for something. When we didn´t actually pick him up and take him somewhere with a roof (or a least put a raincoat or umbrella hat on him, ideas that crossed our minds, both stuck down a being unacceptable to cats), he found the nearest other people and started whining to them. The air pressure was getting rugged and everything was getting dark, so we made our way back to the entrance. There was a grey old cat standing there like a haggard security guard.
We were running toward a cafe just as the rain broke out. We fled inside and got a cappuccino. I guess we´ll never know what the cats do when it rains. As long as finding out means getting wet ourselves.