If you are not someone who keeps up with the mysterious and unfathomable trends from the exotic Orient, you may be unfamiliar with the concept of cat cafes.
I know that some readers, Asian cuisine having the reputation that it does in the U.S., will immediately jump to the conclusion that these are establishments which specialize in the preparation and serving of cat. Roast cat, boiled cat, cat fricassee. Cat with noodles and light lemon sauce.
But no; instead, they are places with perfectly ordinary light snack and dessert fare, which are well-stocked with hordes of overfed felines for customers to pet and play with during the course of their meal.
Originating in Taiwan, the trend quickly spread to Japan, where people really dig cats but often live in very small apartments where pets are prohibited. Cat cafes provide an outlet for all the purring and petting they crave even if they aren’t able to own a cat themselves.
In the United States, with all our pesky health and safety regulations, true cat cafes are essentially unknown for reasons of sanitation. Dining and petting areas are separate and there’s often a cover charge to actually touch a cat.
In Bangkok, however, the kitties roam freely at the Caturday Cafe, and you are well-advised to guard your plate if you don’t want them snacking off it. And you had better watch your step; cats nap where they choose, and you’re not supposed to disturb them.
I didn’t actually go on a Saturday, but that was probably for the best, as even on Wednesday there were a fair few people there. Even so, we were all outnumbered by the cats. I counted 23 out at once, but they have places they can go in back for privacy and there were a rotating cast of them coming out regularly, so there could have been double that number in the building.
They were all very well-mannered, tolerant even with the kids who came in and tended to be a little rough. And none of them were starved for attention–most seemed most interested in napping, although food or a little chin-scratching was never rejected.
There were toys scattered around but most clearly lost their novelty long ago. The thing that seemed to interest them the most was a video screen, mocked up as a window, which showed animated backgrounds of landscapes with an occasional real-life cat superimposed from time to time.
They also responded well to the regular staff, who seemed to be equally or more involved with cat-wrangling as with customer service. And I don’t mean that in a bad way–the service was great, and the staff were very cool and friendly. But it was obvious they all loved the cats, and the cats loved them. They would clap their hands and a cat would jump up on its back legs, or they would just randomly reach down and tip a cat over as they were walking by, just for fun. Customers aren’t supposed to pick up the cats but the staff would grab them and park them on their shoulders as they went around taking orders.
It was a really fun atmosphere, particularly if you like cats, as I do. And there was a wide variety of cats; Scottish folds, a Bengal, a couple Norwegian Forest cats, an awful lot of munchkins, and the usual array of shorthairs and Persians.
Oddly, there were no Siamese cats, except for one playing on the loop in the fake window frame. I hadn’t made the obvious association (Siam, of course, being the ancient name for Thailand) so I wasn’t thinking it was particularly odd when I noted this and said, conversationally, “That’s okay. I’ve never liked Siamese cats that much, anyway.”
I might has well have thrown a bucket of ice water across the table.
“Oh, you don’t like Siamese cat? Maybe you don’t like Siamese girl, too? Maybe you only like American?”
In all the guide books you read they carefully instruct you not to say anything derogatory about the king or culture here, as everyone takes such criticisms very seriously. I now have another travel tip to add to the list:
Don’t diss their cats.