Restlessness.

Back in Amman.
Such a much needed trip to Berlin. Not necessarily because I needed a break from Jordan.
I did, mostly and on the surface, enjoy the dull summer weather Berlin had to offer. I realize how mean it was for those actually being in Berlin with its endless rain and temperatures that don't belong to what is, meteorologically, the height of summer. But this is not about the weather. Or the fact that Amman has, since I left it, not had a day below 36°C (96°F) (I am not saying this to brag, I am saying this because I am too delicate of a flower to survive without an a/c and big almost humongous amounts of water).
(Although, at some point, I do want to write more about life in Jordan which might touch on temperatures and the weather. Sorry, I am boring like this.)

It was a trip, more importantly, putting things into perspective. I am, however, not sure into which.
I realized already before I left for Berlin something and it became ever more obvious when I wandered my dear city's streets' that the life I live at the moment is not a fulfilling one.
I am a university graduate.
I have a diploma verifying that I am a Political Scientist (with capital letters!).
I spent the last 18 years (can you believe it?) in school.
And what do I do right now?
I make lunch boxes for my stepchildren, I fret over how dirty the floors are although I just cleaned them, I finally learned how to iron shirts and I am getting faster.
Those are the achievements I celebrate. (Not really.)
I used to look forward to finding excuses to cook and bake when I was pre-occupied with more important things. I enjoyed my first 4 weeks of meal planning. I longingly read food blogs and cookbooks wondering when I'd have the time to make all those things bookmarked. It has, all too soon, turned into obligation and a sense of loathing.
I confess here and now: I am a bored housewife. And overqualified I might add.

For the past month or two whenever someone asked about finding a job or starting to work: I made up excuses. "I just reached Jordan." "My brother/sisters-in-law/parents are visiting and I wouldn't have time for them." "I need to look into the options."
When the truth is: I was comfortable. Sure, I wasn't happy being the cleaning lady and cook of the house but it was a comfortable life. My husband is the breadwinner of the household I don't have to work (He isn't the one holding me back, just to be clear!). In a different sense I do have to because my mind needs to be occupied and there are only so many audio books one can listen to while cleaning mindlessly around the house.
Things have to change around here and they better change fast. The beginning of Ramadan in 3 days might be an inconvenience but we'll see.

On manners.

He stood at the bar, patiently waiting to place his order.
A middle-aged man of modest height and built he drew attention to himself not because of his looks but through his extravagant clothing. His appearance was that of a man convinced of himself. Dressed all in black but in a statement kind of way. His dark sunglasses and black hat covered half of his face. It was an overcast day and a place no one stares, everyone being too involved with himself and his or her own statuses. The glasses - they already felt wrong.

While he waited a yawning overcame him. He opened his mouth wide taking in as much fresh air as possible. And while doing so, all his carefully build layers of hip and cool crumbled to the ground. A man, no matter how cool and above all he is, if failing at the simples acts of manners has already lost.

Week Thirty Four. One day at a time.

I've been in Berlin for 2 1/2 days now and for the first time in 2 1/2 months (I know, it's not been that long. If you have ever been to Berlin you know how distinctly different the city is during each season). Here are some of my observations from walks today and yesterday:

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Germans speaking German with an English accent is - not sexy. Not sexy at all. But it happened! I was shocked.

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On Saturdays in Amman women with their children make an appearance while their husbands are nowhere to be seen. In general, the traditional family is not a regular sight on weekend outings to the pool and the like. In the young and hip districts of Berlin the picture is quite different: I saw more men out and about alone with their children, pushing the stroller or with a child strapped to their chests, half the time with the mothers by their side.

*
Being blond (more or less) and tall (more or less) in Berlin is a no brainer. No one cares. While it's nice to not be stared at by each and everyone I cannot shake my habit of never looking men in the eyes. Relax girl, you can do that in Berlin! It's not understood as an invitation here!

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While in Berlin, all I want is immerse myself in all things German - newspaper, radio, books - but sadly realizing that I don't really like a lot of German music.

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In a seemingly desperate attempt for individuality most young females of a certain upbringing and socialization look surprisingly similar almost interchangeable. And while I do belong to them in terms of age and cultural background I realize again and again, and very happily so, that I have never and will never fit in.

{Thirty four down, eighteen more to go.}

Oh Berlin.

You know how to treat a girl coming from the hot desert: Wore a sweater, jacket and a scarf today. That's how cold it was.
Also, fell in love with how green it is and how beautiful the sky all over again.
Walked the same streets that I always walk. Stopped at the same places I always stop.

Will continue to wander your streets until Thursday before I return to my desert.
Have - against all personal odds - started using my camera even though I always feel funny doing so. Have great hope to even do this thing I always want to do but never achieve: photograph strangers.
Felt happiest when people I love where happy about seeing me during my short stance.

Beirut Recap. Part Three.

So, where were we? Yes, I am still talking and thinking about Beirut and now that my films have come back I can show you too!

So, let's start at the end: Our last lunch at the charcuterie/fromagerie "Jean-Charles" in the middle of the district of Achrafieh. Besides a great variety of cured meats from Italy and France and cheeses from France, Spain and Italy which get air shipped biweekly are these still somehow fancy things like black salt from Hawaii or truffle butter. We sampled our way through the meats and cheeses before settling on a variety we liked which we enjoyed with some really nice Lebanese white wine (also, you shouldn't give me white wine in the middle of the day. Maybe its the reason for my camera drop...). Would you have liked to join us? It was more than we could have finished. (We took the rest and some more cheese back home with us.)

There is a Laduree stand not far from Jean-Charles and yes, we had to stop there too. It would bring us this much closer to Paris, don't you agree?

At the Papercupstore, lounging on the couch and drinking Vietnamese coffee, my new favorite. I could have spent even more time at the store even though it felt wrong flipping through all those books with buying much.

(Can you see the first papercupstore picture? Because I cannot. But if you click on it, you will land on flickr, where I can also not the see it, but if you view it big, it works. Something feels very wonky.)

My mother laughed at me when I told her, but when we went to the farmers market we bought a kilo and a half of these cherries and took them home with us. 

There is a story behind those though. When I was born my parents planted a cherry tree in the garden in front of my grandmothers house. It was the greatest cherry tree of all times for the fifteen years that the tree grew (before it and the house and the loveliest pear tree ever were demolished to give way for a highway) because the cherries had the size of big sweet cherries with some of the tartness and all the juices of sour cherries. These cherries, although not exactly the same, came very close. Upon hearing this, my mother stopped laughing at me and asked: Did you ask what kind of cherry it was? (She never knew the kind they planted 26years ago.)

Although I very much like walking through cities because it's a much different experience, we didn't do much walking this time around. It was simply too warm and too humid. I did shoot some pictures from my seat in the taxis and I would have loved to show you the one of the Holiday Inn - the story behind the hotel you could read here (or in short: It was a sniper post during the civil war and therefore shelled by artillery. After the war, the skeleton remained and is still standing as is) - or this movie theater I don't know the name of in Downtown that was also destroyed and always makes me think of E.T.'s face. But alas, those pictures were not among the 9 saved ones.

But you can look at quite a few more pictures over here.

Week Thirty Three. One day at a time.

Today has been such a crappy day already.
I woke up with one completely swollen eye barely able to open it properly. I pretty much looked like half a stray cat minus the dirt.
As it turned out when we finally reached a doctor later in the day I have a virus infection but not just any: a severe one. I am now equipped with three different ointment to be taken several times a day. It blows absolutely.
It especially blows as I now feel like I am also getting the flu what's with the muscle pain, throat ache and shivering.
Normally I don't complain about being sick, I promise. Because normally I don't get sick. Maybe a cold or two a year when the seasons change. My husband refers to me notoriously as the woman with "Viking genes" even though we Germans do get sick as often as other people, I swear.

Feeling like crap today was even more annoying as we finally finalized my residency which involved waiting in line several times including the Ministry of Interior which took over an hour. Did I tell you that in order to receive residency status in Jordan one must undergo a blood test to check if one is HIV positive? For some nationalities the application process even includes a chest x-ray to be certain the filthy foreigner is not bringing tuberculosis into the country. In case you are wondering: HIV positive leads to immediate deportation.
While we drove from place to place we got stuck in traffic more times than I cared to count. The citizens from the Arab Gulf spend their summer in Jordan (or in Lebanon, Egypt and, in the years prior, Syria) because the climate is nicer. To feel more comfortable they ship they cars over. In a congested city like Amman this isn't any fun. They also come here for medical treatment which made the waiting area of the hospital look like Riyadh - full of men in the traditional white thobe and head to toe covered women in black.

In general I like driving around in Amman and the extra cars that the Gulfers bring annoy me only to a certain extent (The Saudis are in the majority and drive like shit, IMHO). My least favorite sight though: The big cars like Hummer with Iraqi plates. In a country tortured by war these cars leave a dirty impression and I suspect each and everyone of profiting from the war and its aftermath.

{Thirty three down, nineteen to go.}

Beirut Recap. Part Two.

Let's talk about places I loved best while we were in Beirut (even though, I believe the list would be more extensive had we spent more time in the city).

First up, our hotel was quite the let down. Rather run down with old and shabby furniture. Even more of a let down after entering the modern entrance. On the plus side the hotel was right in the middle of Hamra one of the busiest districts of Beirut. From the seventh floor we were staying in the street noise was down to a bearable level while the parakeets and parrots on the balconies opposite our windows made the city sound and feel like (thanks to the high level of humidity) a big, loud rainforest with heavy traffic.
Before we left I spent some time looking up places I wanted to see and eat at and by coincidence one of these places was just a mere 100meters away from the hotel.
The "Bread Republic" (someone needs to build them a website) is an artisan bakery which bakes sourdough/yeast-free bread of fantastic quality. They are also member of the slowfood movement Lebanon something Jordan can only dream of. Besides selling bread they also serve excellent breakfast and food all through the day. Our hotel was, as expected (see above), rather a let down in regards to breakfast but we were nicely compensated. Before we left Beirut, I made sure a loaf of bread accompanied us home.

After checking out the farmers market we made sure to have lunch at the restaurant organizing said market. "Tawlet Café" (which literally means Table) has an open kitchen as its core concept in which a different producers prepares meals on a daily basis. The first time I read about this restaurant was back in December when I discovered this magazine with this article in it. Although a little hard to find if you don't know the neighborhood we were delighted once we entered. Everything is bright and welcoming. The food looked and smelled delicious and I would share pictures now but my film has still not been developed. Tawlet is more than just a place to eat. It's bringing people from all over Lebanon together to share a meal and while we were there, we also marveled at the different products for sale. Each jam, cordial or pickle had the logo of the restaurant on it glass with an extra line of where it was from. We bought tomato jam which, at the restaurant, was paired with white cheese, a cheese of similar consistency as haloumi but somehow different texture. I haven't figured out a better way to describe it yet.

Just a five minute walk away from our lunch spot and much easier to find was the bookshop and café "Papercup". A long stretched single room filled with, on the one side, books on, mostly, architecture, fashion and design (and a small French and English kids section) and, on the other side, imported magazines from English and French speaking parts of the world. At the far end behind the counter and opposite the cashier is a coffee machine with which they make excellent coffee. Because papercup is this too, a café. We had coffee, lounged on their couch by the window and I could have bought each and every book. I don't know if the Lebanese people read more than the Jordanians and if bookstores actually make more sense in Beirut. But even in Virgin Megastore (which we have in Amman as well) we were surprised how many people were there. In Amman, customers sway to the side where electronics and DVDs are displayed rather than to the books.

I loved each and every one of these places and while I was there I wished someone would come to Jordan and open copycats of them. There are so many interesting concepts already existing it wouldn't even be necessary to be unique. When I mentioned the lack of interesting, non-franchise, cafés on twitter I was asked "Why don't you open one?" but I ask you back: Would you open a place that is like your favorite coffee shop when all you want is your favorite coffee shop to be closer to home? If I wanted to open up businesses in Amman for all the things I miss about Berlin I'd have to open a whole apartment building to accommodate them all.

There is one more place I want to tell you about. And when I tell you of that one, I'll also show you some pictures, I hope.

Let's talk cake.

So, yesterday I merged all my previous foodblog posts to this blog and declared the blog dead.
I was lacking content and it wasn't going to change. I thought.
And then I spent the day in the kitchen, made fresh pasta, a flan I am anxious to unmold after spending a day in the fridge and a chocolate layer cake.
As you can see, I also took pictures as I went along.



It's a pretty cake, isn't it.
I am not intending to share the recipe though. Which is weird in a way, because it's a good cake. I added more chocolate than the original recipe called for and also very much liked the chocolate cream cheese frosting. It has a nice firm crumb without being dry. It was also my first successful "cut the cake horizontally in two layers" attempt something I am always anxious about because the cakes I have baked so far always seem so very delicate.

The reason I won't share the recipe: I really didn't want to like it. I kept telling my self as I was making it: Who does this? Why would you do this? Who will eat the whole thing?
It's from a cookbook I have never cooked or baked anything from before (or likely after), a book one of my sisters-in-law bought some years ago. It's Jessica Seinfeld's book "Deceptively Delicious" and I just can't get behind her concept.
She cooks and purees vegetables to add them to her food in order to "sneak" nutrients and vegetables into her children's diet. I am not a big fan of the sneaking part on the one hand and on the other I doubt how many nutrients are left in a carrot after you peel, cook, puree, freeze and add it to a dish to cook it again. Besides, the whole cake has only a 1/2 cup serving of beetroot the consistency of babyfood - is that really worth the effort of the process beforehand?

In the case of this cake it all started out with us juicing beetroots. The remaining pulp made my stepdaughter exclaim: Like cupcakes (I don't know where she got this from. Red Velvet Cake maybe? It did look a bit like cake crumbs)! She then requested I make a cake from the beets. And so I changed Jessica Seinfeld's method, cooked the pulp in a little oil and its juice, pureed it to achieve a finer consistency (something was wrong with our juicer) and added it to the cake batter as the book requested.
The raw batter had a very distinct beetroot flavor which was odd mixed with chocolate. The resulting cake did not, especially after being covered with frosting.

I don't really like Banana Bread, I know there is zucchini bread which I have yet to try and of course I like carrot cake, but this cake does not want you to know it has beetroot in it. It disguises itself as something normal and ordinary.
I know there are very picky eaters out there (one of my husbands nephews, e.g.) for whom this book might be intended and I am glad my husband's children are champs at eating in comparison (our holy grail to making them eat fruits: fruit kebabs on a stick!) but I would feel cheated on if I realized that someone was sneaking things into my food. After all, I don't like it when the big food companies do this with HFCS or whatnot.

Merger.

I started a food blog back in April thinking it was about time and I had spent months before just taking pictures of food for flickr so might as well write about it.
It worked well for a while especially the first six weeks of being in Jordan in which I kept a vigorous meal plan which I was rather proud of. The meal plan doesn't exist anymore and I have gone back to the way I used to cook most of the time: Raid the fridge to see what I have, think of combinations or look up recipes that might fit my list of ingredients. Oftentimes coming up with quite edible things although not worth writing about. I do still follow recipes and am excited to try new things from my July edition of Australia's Gourmet Traveller that I acquired in Beirut.

Food as a topic, or so it feels, creeps up into this blog on a regular basis while the food blog has been neglected for the past 3 weeks. So I am giving up on that foodblog of mine.
I am not giving it up entirely, though. I just don't want to have two separated blogs. I'd rather have one, m'kay? (Having two blogs is time consuming and energy sucking. And I'd rather be in the kitchen or out and about taking pictures.)

So, here is what's going to happen and I hope you are okay with it: Random writings of nonsense are going to mingle with Chocolate Cake and Pasta dishes (or whatever else I can come up with).
In the meantime, I have imported all my old posts from "Mishu Mathu eats".

Beirut recap. Part One.

I went to Beirut observing everything I could, capturing everything my camera would let me (until I dropped it... But the internet said some pictures might be saved! So there's hope!) and eating all sorts of things I missed in Amman.

So what have I learned?
That this country is full of contradictions and weirdness. I have already mentioned that smartphones and ipads can only be operated where there is wifi. Which blows I think.
I also learned that the car I have been coveting (Porsche Panamera, ahem) is not as nice from the inside as I expected while the latest Porsche Cayenne is not bad at all. I know this because one of our days we walked into the Porsche dealership and checked which cars are to our liking if we could choose. I don't come from a place so sheltered I had never seen designer clothes. Like every woman (?) in her twenties these days growing up with Sex and the City and the like, I know quite a few brands my husband hadn't heard of until then. The sheer amount of stores selling these brands was nonetheless irritating for me. This is, lest not forget, a country of only 4 million people (plus countless visitors from the Arab Gulf. Fair enough.).

I learned that the men in Beirut love T-shirts with logos. But not just any logos. No, the classy ones. Saying things like "This is not the life I ordered" or, how clever, "Think less, live more" but my favorite was that boy who cannot have been older than 17 wearing a "ladykiller" shirt with pride. Arabs are anything but not convinced of themselves.

I learned that Beiruti women in general are quite pretty and often look quite alike. While we were there the Miss Lebanon 2011 competition was being live broadcasted and let me tell you: they were all very pretty. I wouldn't have been able to choose one as they all looked rather similar. Even Miss Lebanon 2010 looked like the older sister of the new Miss. It made me wonder if they all go to the same plastic surgeon as a precondition to be considered for the finale. You see, plastic surgery is done in Lebanon quite well and even (or so I heard) covered by health insurance.
Having spent quite a while in Jordan now which might be liberal by Arab standards but conservative by Lebanese I was astonished by the amount of cleavage I saw at all times of the day and almost all groups of age. I was annoyed with myself for not bringing my shortest shorts and most revealing dresses as here, in Beirut, no one would have given a damn about it. In terms of women rights and legal discrimination Lebanon might be as backwards as any other Arab country. But in terms of freedom to walk the streets without feeling uncomfortable even though your attire is "decent and modest", it's priceless.

I learned that Lebanon has a government run agency to certify organic producers (great!) and even a nice, albeit small, organic farmers market (loved it!) every Saturday that is worth checking out. It's still this small that the vendors know their customers by name. It's all very cosy. But when it comes to exporting goods to Europe or other countries than the Arab Gulf the government is quite a let down and does not help or assist its farmers. A pity really, with so much effort put in.

I learned that Beirut has so much to offer. And to see. I will tell you more some other day.

Week Thirty Two. One day at a time.

I have so much to tell you. So many things I saw and want to share from my trip to Beirut this past weekend.
But for now, just some hours after reaching home, let's just keep it at small bites.

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I am this kind of person who takes 5 pairs of shoes to a 4 day trip because I cannot decide and have picked outfits that require this extensive amount of footwear. I will wear them all (same for the 4 pairs of pants) and even the new pair I bought.

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I will plan the whole trip around food and places to eat with each bite that I take growing more and more envious that those same places or even weaker copies of them have not been tried in Amman.

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I break into tears when this happens: Half an hour before we have to leave for the airport we reach the hotel loaded with bags like donkeys. I grab everything from the seat next to me, oblivious to the camera that just sits on my lap, get out of the car and the camera falls to the floor. This is my analog Minolta the camera I have become to love dearly. I am on the second roll of film in just 3 days. When it fell, the back opened, exposing my precious film and its precious pictures to the bright and relentless sun of Beirut certainly ruining almost 2 days of film. I am besides myself. I wish I had carried my digital camera as well, taking just the same pictures. Just to be sure nothing would get lost. I am still not over it even though shit happens and there is nothing I could do. (Except, go back, relive everything we did and saw and be more careful next time. I have never had anything happen to me like this. I will never have anything like this happen to me again.)

***
While in Beirut, we tried acquiring a data card for this little gadget we own called Ipad. It would come in handy when looking for addresses and stuff. After being send from one little shop for mobiles to another we finally make our way to RadioShack only to learn that 3G is not available in Lebanon. How is that even possible? A country so fast forward in ideas and events is still stuck with hopping from one wifi spot to another? I see a lot of people carrying iphones and blackberries around during our stay, constantly wondering: How do you use a smartphone in a country that doesn't have the infrastructure available you need to operate it?

***
There is more. So much more (Maybe I'll steal some pictures from my husbands camera to show you.) in stories and in pictures.

{Thirty two down, twenty more to go.}

Recapping discoveries in music.

I have wanted to talk to you about music for what feels like forever but is more likely around two weeks.
If you know me in person, you know that when we meet the first thing I have to do is unplug my ipod from my ears before I even say hello (number 2 is closing the book I am currently reading and putting it in my bag as well).

Wherever I go, wherever I am listening to music is a must (guess how annoyed I am about switching off my device right before take off and landing when I fly and it's always only a couple of minutes). You'd expect now that I constantly sample new music. Which, actually, is really not the case although I have gotten better at discovering new music.
As with books I work a lot with recommendations I got from other people. Twitter is definitely a good place for this. It's a place for sharing what you see, hear, read and experience (if done right) and so I got to know Florence + the Machine even before she was played on my favorite radion station in Berlin (radio used to be a great source for me but ever since moving to Jordan I've basically given up on listening to the radio. I don't really know why).

Week Thirty One. One day at a time.

Last week I stood in front of my father-in-law's library not really looking for anything specific just surveying what his collection had to offer.
Most of his books are in Arabic. There are quite a few Arabic-German dictionaries (he studied in Germany in the 1960s - what a coincidence...) and some picture books of Germany in the 1950/60s.
I also found the autobiography of Bill Clinton, "My Life", still wrapped in plastic.
I knew my father in law wouldn't mind if I took it and even if he had an interest in reading it his increasing lack of vision wouldn't allow him to do so. (This and his hardness of hearing have caused incidences in the past not without a comical point.)

I picked it and started reading. I am not sure about it until now.
The first evening I started to read I fell asleep on page 27 which doesn't say the book is boring. I am certain I wouldn't have bought it myself given the sheer amount of other books available at all times.
He is a good story teller with an eye for detail (which, given the dimensions of the book could have been a little less thorough - at least for his childhood?).

I am not sure how much I want to know of Bill Clinton's life. Up until last week I wasn't sure I wanted to know anything about his upbringing. I only chose it because I was running low on reading material or books that pulled me (I am looking at you "Everything is illuminated" by Jonathan Safran Foer, you have failed, tremendously, to pull me. But I assume I am the only one given the praise and prizes his work has received).
While I am amazed by the sense of detail and memory I do get annoyed about every second page. Because then, when he concludes an event or something specific he draws the line to his future behavior and not only personally. No, on the big scale. And this I just won't buy. Do you remember things happening in the first 10years of your life that influenced your decisions and attitudes as an adult? I am not not saying that our upbringing has no major influence on who we become. I simply get annoyed about the amount of consciousness.
I don't know how much more I will read from it, for two reasons: a) I finally found a bookstore carrying "Bossypants" by Tina Fey (triple the retail price in America but I bought it anyway) which I have wanted to buy ever since I heard of it and b) carrying Bill Clinton around with me is approximately as enjoyable as carrying Tolstoy's "War and Peace, Vol. I + II." It could easily used as a weapon when in need for defending myself. It's a brick.

The books I have enjoyed very much in the past: Zeruya Shalev "Late family" (highly recommended. It's part of a trilogy and the last part. I also like "Lovelife" while "Husband and wife" only ranks third) as well as Anna Gavalda's "Ensemble, c'est tout" (in the German translation). It hasn't been translated into English or at least I couldn't find it to tell you the English title. I also haven't seen the movie yet but would love to. There hasn't been a movie I didn't like starring Audrey Tatou.

When I bought "Bossypants" I also picked up "Girls of Riyadh" by Raja Alsanea - I am curious about it but am keeping my expectations low after reading reviews.

Would you be interested to hear more about the books I have read or am planning to read?

{Thirty one down, twenty one more to go.}

The sad case of Mr. Kitten.

On Thursday evening my husband came home accompanied by a kitten. He didn't bring a new cat into the house as a surprise (which was my very first thought because we have been talking adding another cat to our existing Pebbles (the bell is long gone)).
He brought a stray kitten. Small, starved, with infected eyes and too small to be older than 4 weeks. It was a pathetic sight. I fell for him instantly. He turned into Mr. Kitten for me.
I shushed my mother-in-law away who suggested milk, got him a can of wet food our own spoiled cat wouldn't touch, found him a shielded corner in the backyard and hoped he would start eating in our care.

By the next morning, the sight got more pathetic if that was even possible. His eyes which we had cleaned with lukewarm black tea were shut close. He sat in the middle of the backyard, barely moving but crying whenever someone came close.
We took him to the vet who confirmed what we knew already: dehydration, eye infection and diarrhea. Apparently, he was also much older already than his posture suggested - at least 2 months.

He could survive the doctor said. Keep him sheltered with water and food always available, apply ointment on his eyes and wait. We did as we were told. Shelter, food, water, medicine.
I wish this story had a happy ending.

Today morning, when I went checking on him to change his food and apply the ointment he was already dead. It didn't exactly come as a surprise. He had refused food the night before. He might have been already a lost case when my husband saved him from an approaching truck on the street in front of our house.
I was devastated nevertheless.

I found him. I went to inform my husband. I went back to the outhouse where we had put him but couldn't open the door again.
So I stood there. Unable to move and cried for this small kitten. Cried and cried because I couldn't do anything to help him. This small life I wasn't able to rescue.
It's not that I wanted to keep him once he got stronger.
I wanted to save him.
He was a delicate little ginger cat and although his features were very different, he reminded me of the small kitten I am unable to forget that lived with us for two months two years ago.
I have no luck in Jordan when it comes to small cats. It's quite obvious. Because two years ago we took two adorable little monsters into our custody and they were taken away as well. Differently though, but still.