She stood only four feet nine to my six-foot four-inch self. I think that placed her head just under my right breast whenever we would casually hug. She probably weighted more than 98 pounds wet. I first met Catalina when she was the manager of a local eatery. She was from Guanajuato, Mexican and she was a ball of fire. She had been in the United States for almost twenty years and while she spoke English, she had not yet mastered the language, which didn't bother me in the least bit. Some things, transcend the language barrier.
When we first met, our greeting was very professional like- nothing personal. It was an informal greeting, as greetings go, and Catalina probably didn't pay much attention to me, since I was an older “gringo” and she was Mexican.
After a few visits to the restaurant, I learned Catalina had three kids. It didn't’t surprise me since she was strikingly beautiful and what guy wouldn't want to have a boat load of kids by a beautiful Latina? What really surprised me was finding out she was much closer to my middle thirties than I had suspected, especially since Catalina looked so young.
Catalina was married. Her husband was a warehouse worker and worked a second job at the local school district to help make ends meet. A lot of the money they made, they sent back to Mexico to help care for Catalina’s mother and three younger sisters.
Every time I visited the restaurant, I leaned something new about Catalina. One day, I mistakenly refereed to Catalina as “Cat.”
“I am Catalina,” she replied straight forwardly. “A cat is an animal. People call me a Pussy Cat. I am not a Pussy cat. I have a pussy, but I am a tiger.”
I quickly apologized.
Catalina smiled.
“I bet you never met a pussy that is like a tiger.”
Her broken English made me smile.
“Catalina,” I replied, “You know that the term ‘pussy’ has a sexual connotation, right?”
Catalina smiled and replied.
“Yes,” she replied. “I know.”
I still wasn't’ convinced she really understood what she had said, but I didn't feel like it was my place to try and set her straight, so I didn't’ press things.
About a week went by and after ordering a take-out meal at the restaurant, Catalina stepped over to the booth where I was seated, waiting on my takeout order to go. She slipped on to the bench seat next to me. The restaurant was empty, so I didn't’t think much about her joining me at the table.
“I saw you the other day,” Catalina said. “You were taking photos very close to where I live on Smith Street by the El Ranchero.”
I told her I had seen a tree I wanted to photograph for a photography class I was teaching at the local community college.
“Oh, I did not know you were a photographer,” Catalina replied. I showed her some of my phonography work on my cell phone.
“Can you take my picture?” she asked.
“Sure,” I replied. “Any time.”
“Come by my house on Smith on Thursday,” Catalina instructed. “You can take my photo.”
I didn't give much thought to Catalina’s request. People ask me all the time to take their picture when they find out I am a photographer. So, I didn't bother to follow up and stop by Catalina’s house.
The very next time I went into to grab a bite to eat, Catalina cornered me and demanded to know why I had stood her up. She stood with her hands on her hips, acting as though she was due an answer.
I apologized.
“Remember,” Catalina replied, “I am a pussy . . .and I am a tiger.”
I laughed.
“You laugh,” she replied. “But you must remember that.”
So, on the following Thursday, I pulled up to a small wood framed house on Smith Street and walked up the short sidewalk to the front door of a one-story frame house on the east side. I knocked on the door and Catalina appeared behind the screen door. She sported a mid-thigh length t-shirt and sandals. Her long black hair was tied back in a ponytail.
She cracked open the screen door and invited me in.
“I am so happy,” she began, “you did not forget me.”
She stretched out her arms and we hugged briefly- a tradition in Mexico, amongst family and friends, only Catalina lingered for a second or so longer than usual.
“You are a tall man,” Catalina remarked. She took a step back. “I should hug you like this…”
Catalina catapulted across the floor, flinging herself on to me, her arms grabbing my shoulders as she wrapped her legs around me.
“This is a better hug, no?” she asked.
I grabbed her buttocks and held on to her.
“Yes,” I replied.