A Most Remarkable Sunday Morning

As I walked towards Place de Clichy to take the metro home from Laura's apartment this morning, I passed over the Cimitiere de Montmartre. Usually when I am walking home from Laura's, it is late in the night, and the cemetery is closed. I kept telling myself to come back during the day to wander amidst the gorgeous tombs and little alleys, but it was just so out of the way. So this morning, when I was walking back after having spent the night, I decided it was the perfect time for a detour.

I approached the cemetery map which lists the graves of famous people for tourists (and non-tourists, I suppose) to locate. It was very confusing and I decided to just wander, and return another day if I did not find all of the graves I wanted to visit. I then noticed a beautiful cat sitting atop a grave near the entrance. I pet it for a while, but it soon attempted to swat at me so I left it alone.

It wasn't super warm out, and I was still wearing my clothes from the night before, so suffice it to say I was not quite dressed for the crisp morning. Nonetheless, it was a beautiful morning to see the cemetery. I walked until I came upon hector Berlioz' grave, and admired it for a bit. I noted to tell my dad about it, and as I was writing it in my notebook, I noticed an old man about twenty feet away from me, spooning out tuna and what appeared to be liver from tin cans with a hilariously long silver ladel. We made eye contact and he beckoned me over. Going against everything IES ever told me, I approached him.

Sejean (I am not sure how he spells his name) is an incredible fellow. he appears to be well into his eighties but nonetheless is unbelievably dedicated to his cause. And what might this cause be? Every morning, Sejean treks over to the cemetery, rain, or shine, or snow, with two large sacs of cat food to feed the 100+ cats of the Cimitiere Montmartre.

Soon after we started chatting (all in French), he intimated that it was quite an expensive endeavor to keep up the cat feeding. I immediately felt concerned--was this another scam? Was he pretending to go around feeding poor kitties while actually scamming young American tourists into giving him crack money? Probably not. I parted with several euros and decided I could also part with some time.

I followed Sejean around the cemetery for the next ninety minutes, until he finished his daily route. It was a truly touching experience. Not only was this elderly man lugging around at least thirty pounds of tuna, but he was familiar with each cat and its character. (Near the end of our trek, he kept shouting something at me in mangled French but I didn't understand until it was too late; turns out, he was telling me "That one's a scratcher!") I asked him lots of questions about what he was doing and why: When did he start? (About 20 years ago.) Did he do it alone? (Yes, although some random people sometimes snuck food to the cats.) Where did all the cats come from? (They are all abandoned by people who no longer want them.) how much does one day's supply of food cost? (50 euro.) What's that powder you're sprinkling on top of the meat? (It's for their coats, to keep them healthy.) how long did this route take? (Four hours, 6,5 kilometers.)

Apart from talk of his activity, we discussed our love of classical music, opera, in particular, our visits to Russia, our parents, what I was doing in Paris, animals, and relationships. he was quite funny; he made several cracks (actually I believe he was being totally serious) about how he only socialized with women (not men) because the were like cats, and in general he related to animals much better than to people. he mentioned the passing of his wife and how he sometimes composed music to recall old times.

As we parted, he asked me whether I had a pen and something on which to write. I handed him my planner, and opened it to the back where a few blank pages remained. I watched closely and full of emotion as he sketched a scene of the cemetery, complete with a cat atop a tombstone. Underneath, in broken English (his father was an Englishman) wrote: "Remember this time, with the cats. You love? Me too." he signed it and wrote his address and phone number. "You call me in the evening and we'll dine together," he said, "at my favorite Italian cafe."

And I fully intend to.