Don’t Call Out!! Don’t Chase!!

After some obvious interpretation without any knowledge of Japanese (and likely guesses as to it being 5 years old and massing 14 kilograms), I tried Google translate, as it has an image function:

All my thoughts about the poor dog and upset owners have been swept away. I am stunned. All I need is a pair of GoogleGlasses, a headset for audio, and a connection, and all the deep mysteries will be reduced to trivialities. I worry it will be like what happened one day, long ago, when I was working in Germany and suddenly understood what the young lab ladies were saying. It was not about whether free will is an illusion, or Nietsche or Wittgenstein, it was about Fleischsalat bei Lidl heute nur neun und neunzig. If I could turn it off for advertising and on for important, meaningful things like lost pet signs, I could focus on the pathos. Note the similarity of language to a lost pet sign in Outer Sunset, San Francisco two years ago, “Do not Chase or Call Out.”

Her Name Was Lola

I imagine her doing merengue and the cha-cha-Chihuahua at the Copacabana a long way south. Not much humor in these situations, but that Manilow song was played so incessantly that summer in ’78 (45 years ago!) that it pops into my head each and every time I hear the name “Lola.”

Found Cat!

That exclamation mark expresses my astonishment well: in all my many decades exploring the diverse typology of lost pet signs, this is the first, even if incomplete, found pet sign. Please note that it is unrelated to the underlying call for volunteers. I might liken the found pet sign to a sighting of the holy grail, a posited proof, or a fragment of the true cross. I searched the area for more complete signs, but the trail was cold. My estimate is that it takes months for such signs to reach such a fragmented state, and I have abandoned hope. Chicago.

Summer Haircut

Even sadder than the thought of a cat getting a haircut is that this is posted (Berteau and Honore) almost a mile away from the last seen location, which is on the other side of two very busy four-lane roads. I advocate attachment of an AirTag to the collar before the microchip.

PAWBOOST ALERT

This is the first time I have seen “fur baby” in print. Ravenswood, Chicago.

Do Not Chase or Call Out

This was summer 2021, Sunset (as a previous Inner Sunset resident, this being west of 19th, I almost wrote “Outer Sunset,” but our host greatly preferred “Sunset,” as “Outer” meant quite a few blocks closer to the ocean), where the plastic sleeve is to protect from the fog/descending mist/marine layer characteristic of that microclimate. What caught my eye what information was included and what was not: why would the microchip and reproducibility be salient, but name and dietary preferences be not? I believe this is the first lost pet sign I have seen suggesting it be recorded with a handheld device by the concerned reader: “Take a photo of this flyer.”

Break-Out Break-In

In this episode, our narrator plots his escape from house arrest (rivet) and sneaking into his office (arrow). The planning requires both an escape from his neighborhood and entry onto campus, both heavily guarded. His apartment building exit is unguarded and army patrols occur only twice daily, yet the local police station (which he has heard referred to as “Guantanamo”) is just around the corner and guards the immediate northern and eastern routes, and the army maintains a checkpoint guarding the western route. The police may allow a lone pedestrian, as the facing Snack Faisal appears to be operating normally, and our narrator completed a three-block foray on the eastern route Saturday. Yet today, the corner Fakhani was fined for selling from the door, and now only will deliver. Likewise, the army checkpoint to the west is for the Saudi embassy, and so long as one does not approach it, they may let one pass. Maybe I could claim to be looking for my lost cat. That would allow, via the wrap-around behind the embassy, a route with three-quarters backstreets and pedestrian-only. Unfortunately, the very useful stairs behind the embassy are gated for security.

Avoiding the army and police leaves only one plausible route: the pedestrian pathway directly across the street that leads to the hinterbau alley to the south. From there, the next street is accessible via a courtyard and a small set of stairs. That puts one away from police and army, but no direct path to campus. A western route to the sea would require passing by Bain Militaire and a kilometer walk on the main corniche road. An eastern route avoiding checkpoints on Bliss (former prime minister across from the Boys’ Gate) and Sidani (Near Eastern Theological Institute or something) would require a long meander. Main Gate is heavily guarded, and a soldier is sometimes stationed at Medical Gate. A blitzkrieg straight to the hospital along Makdisi (or even Sidani) could be successful: if I shave and wear a suit and tie, they might assume I am a physician reporting to duty. One of my colleagues told me that whenever he is stopped at a checkpoint for having an even license plate, he shows his university ID card that identifies him as “Dr.” I could even claim to be a virologist. If I can make it to the hospital, the tunnel to main campus might be open. It is almost always closed: the last time I know it was open was during the July War or during the events of May 2008. That would place me at the far end of campus from my office, but I have had much practice avoiding people. Or, I could try for the stairs to the east of the Medical Gate that lead north to the Girls’ Gate. It is an unusual gate for me, but most of the guards seem to think I still live on campus and might wave me in. Better would be Sea Gate, but from the east, it would be half a kilometer exposed on the main corniche road.

For a cold entry, Sea Gate would be best, as it is used mostly by resident faculty and is immediately next to the target building, and there is a good chance to entry unchallenged. We know two people with diplomatic plates, but asking for a ride and sharing a vehicle would be too much. Another option would be to have a resident invite me to visit, but that might not be allowed. I may have to write the dean and beg to be allowed to work or to pick up some books. If that does not work, I have few options. I know the perimeter well, and without a ladder or car jack, getting over the walls would be difficult. I might just have to stay home and practice being on holiday or being retired.

Do not touch the kittens!

Displayed outside Faculty IV (also known as Hariri building), American University of Beirut. On-campus housing is paradise for families with children. One evening last week, I saw 18 children playing some sort of game (football?) together.

It is often possible to identify the school by penmanship, though as the great modern decline of education began with the decline of attention to penmanship (and then rhetoric, writing, reading, math…), schools might not be where children learn. The B is often diagnostic, and here it not the wretched Palmer alphabet, though the D follows a non-canonical order of strokes. Fortunately, I did not have a red pen to correct the grammer and spelling, which, in any case, is better than some of my colleagues.

Mixed media (ballpoint or gel pen, tape, crayon (not gilding), construction and photocopy paper), A4, unknown artist (inquiries will be made: subject and stylistic traits suggest a collaboration of multiple girls between 9 and 13).

Timely Readings

The reports of my colleagues holding classes in “The Egg” theater on Martyr’s Square (one of our most iconic accidental monuments to the Lebanese civil war {I had forgotten that oxymoron}, a massive, almost brutalist, concrete movie theater that resembles an above-ground bunker) brought to my mind political theater of a different sort. I remember seeing a production of Rhinoceros on television on Oregon Public Broadcasting as a bored, rural adolescent. The only part still in my mind is the last scene, in which Berenger, played by Gene Wilder (wow!) contemplates becoming one of them. Unlike the text version, I recall the Wilder’s as a monologue: if I dig, I could find that I am correct or find that my mind has misremembered it in a very interesting fashion, without the trajedy of the Housewife’s cat. One might suppose academics would prefer histories and trajedies, but I prefer comedies.

The Cat Welfare and Rescue Committee of Lower Campus List of Cats

Recently finding myself surrounded by excited children in lower campus who were congratulating a kitten upon its successful rescue (my role was keeping a larger cat from eating its food, its first in several days), I enquired as to its name. “Parkour Master,” said one. I was greatly confused, not being certain as to what a parkour is (some sort of salon?). I asked her to repeat the name and tell me who had named it, but the question was left unanswered in the excitment. That evening, I encountered the word while reading, thus experiencing the common phenomenon of dwelling upon whether such sporadic coincidences are due to chance clustering or whether the earlier presentation prompted alerted my mind to pay attention to what otherwise might pass without notice. Wikipedia addressed my ignorance well, but I was left confused how the local pre-teen lexicon included a word I presumed arcane. Confiding my confusion with a parent solved that mystery: there had been a parkour activity at school. Perhaps a master led sessions, or a video was shown.

Thinking of how it could be an apt name for a cat (though possibly not one needing rescuing from the second-floor ledge of the physics building) brought to my mind how many local cats have been named (often more than once: different people call them different names and even change the chosen name {there is a dispute over whether the discovery revealing Parkour Master as having female reproductive organs [I do not recall whether she bears the clipped ear signifying surgical intervention in their function] necessitates the sole use of the feminine name Emy, though when I asked why a “girl cat” could not be named Parkour Master, the children looked as if they did not yet have the language to explain their views [I neither suggested vocabulary nor the alternative “Parkour Mistress”], and only later did I conceive that the name could have a human male namesake}, such as me becoming angry at Moustachio {before she turned Goth} and renaming her Three Plus), and also how many cats are no longer here. Thus, a minor calligraphy project, partly commemorative, partly memorial (I see these as different), partly celebratory: a tribute to the cats in all their diverse personalities.

Grimly, I realize that all my cat friends from when I was an assistant professor are no longer here. My guess is that the longest duration of a feral cat in lower campus is less than 10 years. Crazy Cat, Moustachio, and Black Rose are all contenders for feline Methuselah status, but since Moustachio (also known as Einstein by AUB undergraduates) was relocated for illegally auditing chemistry courses, his status is unknown. I did not mind him auditing my course, but there were many complaints in other courses.

Roman imperial and gilt edges seemed appropriate to convey the sense of an official document and some of its doomsday aspect, but I was not up to the challenge of so many imperials. My comfort with uncials led to their use. The Gothic footnote is mangled by my being too lazy to use guidelines: my ability to freehand Gothic is limited. Their simplicity of form means that every deviation is obvious.

The seal is semi-authentic, meaning a real paw, though indirect. Taking inspiration from my grandfather’s fake diploma in “Chemical Drafting,” a joke by the chemists and chemical engineers about helping him understand the difference between what one can imagine and what one can make real, a wax seal and ribbon were necessary. I thought at first somehow to arrange for some official AUB seals, but the official seal is probably tricky to get. I imagine it is under lock and key on the top floor of College Hall (that would be about five layers of security, of which I would be able to penetrate only three without raising alarms). A cat paw seemed appropriate, but holding a living paw on a puddle of hot wax seemed unwise. It would probably make applying ear-mite ointment seem easy. Carving one from brass or wood would be going too far (from being viewed as a mildly eccentric hobbyist to kookily obsessed), but modeling clay could work, especially as there are many cat prints in concrete on campus with which to form positives. I kept my eyes open and scouted some good ones. Books & Pens had modeling clay, and after a couple of few tries, I managed to get a couple good positive impressions of paws (and cause passers-by to form odd impression of me). DiabCo had sealing wax, and some more experiments (aluminum foil does not stick to sealing wax, unlike modeling clay even when coated with nail polish) led to success.

A4, Winsor & Newton smooth heavy watercolor paper, Noodler’s inks, Pilot parallel pens, Windsor & Newton Gold ink, Pelikan 60/10 sealing wax.

What to do with it? Office wall?