I'm sitting at my corner bistro enjoying a glass of sancerre at a sidewalk table. It's February 28th and spring has officially sprung. I really don't need the jacket I'm wearing and the rhythm of Paris has changed, seemingly overnight. Outdoor tables are packed and pedestrians crowd this quiet little street, even at 8pm when they should be home preparing dinner or primping for a Saturday night on the town.
I recognize a neighbor approaching, a middle-aged man, badly in need of a haircut, who I've bumped into a few times coming and going. He smiles and mumbles bonsoir then looks over his shoulder and calls for someone. There is no one following. Aha, I think. He is every bit as crazy as he looks. I knew it - this guy has looney toon written all over him. But then I notice a cat, the cat who hangs out in our courtyard and sometimes follows me out the gate and into the street when I leave the building. I've often wondered if this little cat is abandoned, living on the cruel streets of the Marais, but he looks so well-fed and carefully groomed. The cat has stopped to sniff something but responds to the man's calls. He looks up and pauses a second before trotting dutifully behind my neighbor. I watch as this pair continue down the block and disappear around a corner. I cannot believe my eyes. This man is walking his cat.
I can hardly contain my glee. I have a new-found respect for my neighbor. What a magnificent animal trainer he must be. I think about all of the cats I've had and have known over the years and wonder if a single one of them would have followed me down a busy city street so full of distraction. I wonder if my own well-trained dog would be up to the challenge. I'm bowled over. Then I remember something else I've noticed in Paris - every dog is calm and well behaved, the portrait of a fine canine citizen. I have not seen a single dog, large or small, so much as strain against his leash as he's walked. How do they do it? What secret Parisian training method are they using on their pets? And why are there not more famous French animal trainers in the world? Why is there no Monsieur Thierry LeBlanc whom the world holds in the same regard as Cesar Millan?
I decide to order another glass. It's Saturday night and I have no plans. Cyril is with his daughters tonight and I'm not in the mood to chat up strangers at a bar. I will stroll to the video store and rent Le Diner des Cons, a French classic I've been meaning to see again. I'll make myself some tikka masala, will study a little French, and will paint my toenails while watching the movie. It could be my age or the fact that I'm fairly overworked at the moment, or it could be that I've finally succeeded at managing my own expectations - in a town where I know just a handful of people days and nights alone are a regular occurrence - but I feel blissful about the night I've planned. This is a divine life. I want for nothing. I learn and experience new things every day. And I have just seen a man out taking his cat for a walk. I wish that things could stay this way forever.
