The Cat is Still in the Bag

The spring weather in Shanghai--makes you want to take long walks and ride your bike with no destination at all. I particularly like my neighborhood. There are the cool boutiques which I never go into, little teashops, trees lining the streets, and old buildings. It's what they call the French Concession.

I walk around the corner on Fuxing Rd. and see an old, dark-skinned Chinese man with ragged clothes and a wrinkled face (he looks like what people here would call a "waidi ren", one who is not from Shanghai). He is carrying what looks like is a heavy bag.

As he passes me, I hear a loud cry from his bag--I realize it's a cat. She sounds like she is in pain, like she wants to escape. A little shocked from hearing the sound of this prisoner-cat, I stop and I turn to look back at the man and his bag. He must see me, so he turns to look at me and stops.

He makes a gesture to his bag, and his facial expression looks like he wants to ask me a question. What is the question? Does he want to sell me his kidnapped cat? This is Shanghai, after all. Every single frigging interaction (even the "hello" on the street from the smiling young man dressed in the 400RMB cheap, dusty, stained suit) has to do with money. Well, almost every one.

I stand and we look at each other, and it feels like this is all happening in slow motion. I am looking at the pitiful look on the man's face. That sad cat cry is still ringing in my head.

The slow motion sequence ends and we both turn around to continue along our ways. It's just another day in romantic Shanghai.