Pick a cat!
by Jilliana
Ranicar-Breese
I used to have
a friend called Hani. He came from Bagdad and was
constantly looking for a girlfriend. The years
passed, and when I met him in London, he must
have been about 45-50 and very lonely.
I was married,
living in Brighton and went up to London by train
to be at his 50th birthday party. He collected me
and took me to his semi in Camberwell.
The house was full of bronze sculptures of heads
of prominent men. Hani was hopeless when it came
to business and so his Iraqi clients cheated him
each time because he didn’t dare ask them
for a retainer. When he arrived in London had
social connections. Sir this and Sir that who at
least did pay him what he was worth. It was his
dream to create a Middle Eastern art museum in
London.
He was originally trained as an archaeologist.
His father had been a general who had been
assassinated by the Regime. Hani had fled into
the desert and had been ordered to get out of the
jeep and keep on walking. He made his way to
freedom and England though I was not told that
part of his life story.
He had family money and bought his little house
in Camberwell near the arts school where he
taught. He was well known for his international
salons when he asked each person to read
something they had written in their language.
I stayed the night uncomfortably and the next
morning, when I came down for breakfast, I saw 3
cats waiting to be served. Two were ginger and
the third, who was nameless, was a beautifully
marked black and white healthy looking cat.
‘Pick a cat’ Hani said and I did. I was
given a cat cage and that was that. He had no
name so I called him Neko, meaning cat in
Japanese!
Written
20/1/25 at Nightingale.
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