My cat turned 15 earlier this month. His name is Charlie. Back in November, his fellow feline Murphy passed away after a long battle with kidney disease. They tolerated each other; I doubt Charlie misses him much. But I miss them both a lot, so I scavenge any interaction with a cat I can get here. Fortunately, Romania is full of them, and I had the pleasure of meeting several of its finest furry friends—including some dogs—on this past excursion through Transylvania. In the process, I observed that the treatment of these animals in Romania is a bit different from how it is in the US—especially for canines. But first, being a cat person, I will talk about the cats.
The first experience I had with Transylvanian cats happened in the village of Viscri. We had just had a hearty lunch of traditional Romanian food when a few of us spotted a few out the window, sunning themselves. We were allowed outside, and after a few incantations of „mâță” (“cat”), I convinced a little orange critter to sit on my lap; I believe his name was Miorlăit, which means “meow”. Not two minutes later did another cat, unnamed, clamber onto me, over Miorlăit, and assume a bizarre position at the trisection of me, Miorlăit, and the ground. There were other cats, too; some shied away, and some greeted other students. Odd was their custom, but the village cats of Viscri were some of the friendliest I ever met.
The village dogs, while not wholly unfriendly, waxed less mellow. When we arrived in Viscri, one of them joined us as we walked to King Charles III’s guesthouse. Some of my more dog-oriented peers gave it attention; I did not. I paid the canine population no mind at all until we were heading back to the bus, when someone pointed out that the aforementioned dog and another we had glimpsed about the village had gotten into a fight. I watched for maybe a second or two, then looked away. It was violent. No one intervened as far as I could see—not to imply anybody should have. The event was not so much shocking as it was unsettling, to see such acts of desperation from the animal Americans assimilate with “pet”—when moments before I was cuddling with cats who lived in peace, with humans and with one another.
After this episode in Viscri, I paid more attention to ownerless dogs when I saw them. That said, I rarely saw them—which was not altogether shocking. One of the materials we all read in preparation for this OCS discussed Bucharest’s once-massive stray dog population. It is greatly diminished after years of euthenasia programs provoked by violence like what I saw in Viscri. The cities in Transylvania seem to have gotten the memo, for the only other time I recall seeing stray dogs on this excursion was at a bus stop on our way back to Bucharest.
Stray cats, on the other hand, abounded. Though none were as personable as Miorlăit and co., the metropolitan felines appeared calm and content. In Sighișoara, plenty perched on old city walls, watching passersby with feigned interest. One in Cluj looked particularly well-fed; then I looked and saw someone pouring food into a bowl at the side of a street. Sibiu’s representative was a little anxious, but the night was bright and noisy, and many sought its attention. Overall, Transylvania’s feline population is well-liked and well-adjusted, and though I cannot say whether they are truly well-off, there are many whose plights are worse. I return to discussing the dogs.
There were a few canines at the bus stop, most of whom amiable, and some my peers even pet. And then there was this sad, disheveled creature, tagged on one ear, begging for food. We were around the place for half an hour, so a number of us gave in. Some minutes later, we noticed it foaming at the mouth—never a good sign. We stayed away; it never moved to attack. But the scene had already added to the picture growing in my mind: Stray cats, stereotyped as “unfriendly” in the US, have adapted fairly well to various Romanian locales and earn attention untainted by pity for their well-being; whereas both times I saw a stray dog, “man’s best friend”, fear and isolation severed any chance of making a connection.
I hope the dogs’ predicament improves. In the meantime, the differing situations of felines and canines reveal just how important community is. Cats thrive (at least in comparison) on account of the relationships they have with each other and with humans; they need not fight for resources, as sick, scared dogs do. When abroad studying nationalism and xenophobia, trying to pet cute animals teaches a lot of relevant lessons.