Cats

Cats own Amman. Unlike Santiago, where dogs roam the streets and nap in intersections, cats reside in every nook and cranny of this congested city. They jump out of trash cans, scream like mythical banshees as they fight (or fondle) in the middle of the night, and take refuge under cars. For a dog in the Islamic world it's a rough life, "Traditionally, dogs have been seen as impure, and the Islamic legal tradition has developed several injunctions that warn Muslims against most contact with dogs." Cats seem to be the compensation pet. And sometimes feral menace.

A wild cat is fascinating and takes to the life style, I think, much more than dogs. They aren't desperate for love and they'll be damed if you try and pour it on them. In Santiago, lonely dogs would wander up to you on benches, earnestly placing its paw up on your knee begging for affection. A cat will fight tooth and nail if you try and lure it into a comforting home. It embodies the Charles Dicken's rapscallion. It was born for the independence and adventure of street life.

What I love most about these feline friends is that every tourist site I've visited in Jordan, from the Ma'in Hot Springs, to Petra, the Dead Sea to the Baptism site, and even Wadi Rum village, has its own pack of cats. Let's call them a tribe. I think they're family too. Because they're ALWAYS orange.

Above is a picture of a Russian baptism in the Jordan River at the baptism site of Jesus. Standing watch on the railing is the ubiquitous orange cat. That site is in the middle-of-no-where. It's the wilderness from which John-the-Baptist cried. These cats are the world's new pilgrims.