The Cats of Marrakech

The Cats of Marrakech dwelled in the Medina, crawling, gnawing, pouncing like their larger kin. Yet the cats were a socialized bunch, a true communist collective, though they did not know what communism was, only an utterance by the humans who were, to all of them, the illogical animals of the Earth.

The strangest of cats in the Medina were Axel, Bojac, and Coin, friends since there kitten days. Axel and Bojac loved to roam the Medina, wild and free, comforted by the old stars and falling street food. Coin, however, lived in a Hostel, where he basked in the touch of foreigners and ate human made food. He loved being treated like a King.

Beneath the typical, yet beautiful, Moroccan sky, the three friends effortlessly jumped from roof to terrace, finding there favorite spot in the city to observe tourists. For many of the cats, the tourists were a loathsome lot, only adding to the congestion of the Medina, with their strange colors and speaking strange tongues. The benefit of all this, however, was the cats of Marrakech grew up multilingual, picking up on everything from the harsh French to the beautiful Hindi. Many of the cats had even begun to learn sign language, though they all lamented their lack of human like fingers to communicate with one another.

“Look at those three” purred Coin. “They’re staying at my house.”

“You mean the human house” Bojac replied. Coin gave a quick lion stare.

“Want to guess what they are?” asked Axel. It was a game they loved to play, to try and tell the racial, ethnic, and national makeup of tourists they saw wondering the labyrinth. The other cats always thought the game ridiculous, as they didn’t understand this differentiation between race, ethnicity, and nation in humans. To many of the cats, all humans looked the same. But the three friends learned how to tell humans apart using these ideas, as they once followed a human who called himself a “Critical Race Theorist” for an entire month who spoke about it almost every minute of his day.

“They’re staying at your human hole, so you can’t play. But let us know if we’re right or wrong.” Axel told Coin. Coin accepted, thought reluctantly.

The first one was taller than the other two, white skinned, with hair covering most of his face.

“He’s white, obviously.” Said Bojac, unenthusiastically. “But he might be Latino. Might be. No. He’s Australian. Yup, thats what he is” Coin shook his head.

The second one was significantly shorter, with short black hair, brown skin, and a recklessly huge obnoxious smile.

“Black” Proclaimed Axel with confidence.

“FROM PANAMA.” interjected Bojac.

“Both of you are wrong” Coin laughed, as cats do.

The third was the same height as the second, but with long hair, an odd mustache and spotty facial hair, and lighter brown skin.

“So. This is a long shot. But my guess is China.” Bojac was sure of it.

“I say American Samoa.” Axel didn’t seem that confident this time.

“Actually, I don’t know about that one. I’ve been trying to figure him out. Whats the term the human used once about people we can’t figure out?” Asked Coin.

“Racially ambiguous.” Responded Bojac.

The three friends kept playing for hours, following the three tourists by rooftop. Eventually, they stopped playing, and began to laugh at how lost the three human friends were, walking in circles, trying to follow the moon and blend in, something every tourist failed at.

“I’m heading home.” Said Coin.

“Aren’t you going to help them get back?” Asked Axel.

Coin responded, “Nope. The racially ambiguous one called me rude and the obnoxious smile one threw me off his bed. They can get back on their own. Plus, they have the tall one as a guide. He’s nice.”

Coin returned to his Hostel to eat his human food and sleep with human strangers. It took the three human friends about another two hours to find their way back. When they did, Coin greeted them back, ready to be adored like the king he was, under the starry Moroccan sky.

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