The Cats of Istanbul

And What They Taught Me

Cats abound in the cities of Turkey. Or at least in the two I have been two. Small sample size, sure, but high consistency!

The government seems to take pride in taking care of the felines; they vaccinate them and spay or neuter them, then just let the little buggers roam free. Everywhere.

I was intrigued to see the contrast in Istanbul between the chill cats and the bustling tourists or busy workers. The felines lounge serenely as throngs of people scurry around them.

But what was even more intriguing was the juxtaposition between what interested the cats and what the humans were fascinated by. This juxtaposition was made all the more sharper by the venue. Most of these first group of photos were taken at the two great palaces of the Ottoman Empire, palaces with incredible treasures like bejeweled daggers and priceless mosaics. The cats care for none of these things, of course. They were interested in three things and three things only: food, sunshine and being petted.

Here is a guy taking a nap in the shadow of the great Hagia Sophia:

And here are some felines totally non-plussed by the fact that the tomb of Suliman the Magnificent was only a few feet away.

One of my favorite photo came from the market, which, like most markets here, has a roof but wide open passageways to the outside. This fellow seems to be wondering why the humans treasure the shiny metal things so much, when they already have sunshine and food.

We also visited the ruins of Ephesus, one of the great cities of the ancient world. In fact, it was one of the five largest cities in the world in the first century, and incredibly wealthy. But today all that is left are ruins. And cats. Everywhere: cats.

I wished I could communicate to these furry friends that they were privileged to live in a UNESCO world heritage site, where people come from all over the world and pay $50 a day to visit. And not only that, the Apostle Paul spent two years here, and (kinda) inspired a riot by leading so many folk to abandon idol worship. But I don’t speak cat, and even if I did I don’t think they would be impressed. History, art and architecture seem beyond, our perhaps beneath, their notice.

I had hoped that Ephesus would be an inspiration to my thoughts, and I would wander around its ruins and picture more clearly the Apostle Paul walking these streets and selling his tent-making wares in the agora. But, to be frank, that did not happen. The throngs of people bustling didn’t help. Jostling with thousands of camera-wielding tourists in Columbia gear does not lend itself to biblical contemplation.

But I did think about the cats. I pondered how they could be in a sense of great majesty and meaning and wonder and neither know nor care a thing about it. There are not blamable in this, of course. They are not human, after all.

But I am. And the silly cats caused me to ponder my own silliness. How often am I in a place of majesty and mystery and wonder and neither notice or care? I am not just talking about the natural beauties of this world, with its soaring mountains or endless seas. I do mean that, but also more. I mean the majesty and mystery and wonder of the people around me, every day. After all, each one is a unique reflection of God in some way; not that we are God, of course, but each of us is made in His image. Each one of us, every one one of us, is created specifically by the same God who created the wonders of this world and wonders of worlds our eyes will never see.

Do angels shake their heads at me when I brush aside the wonders of the person next to me so I can doom-scroll on my phone? Does the “great cloud of witnesses” of past believers witness only my obtuseness in the presence of the transcendent other? Does Jesus face-palm when the only thing I see in another person is whether they are a help or a hindrance to my agenda today?

I don’t know, but contemplating the cats brought these questions to mind. And for that I will be thankful. And hopefully a little more aware of the majesty and mystery around me.