Fabio Marchioro

All things considered, we know cats are not like people. We don’t regard ours, Miadora and Shy, as daughters, and our nieces will be thrilled to know, we are not planning to leave our assets to our furry companions. But we spent a small fortune to bring our two cats from Brazil.
Despite the fact that with that money we could have paid our rent in High Park Avenue for a few months or pay all our other bills for a (long) while, if necessary, we would do it again. No questions asked. Well, maybe only one: how much?

They live with us since December 2000 and we feel responsible for them. Besides cat food, litter and water, their only demand is a vigorous scratch behind the ears, a little bit of our attention and a small space above a radiator by one (or more) window sill to watch the snowflakes float by. Continue reading

Eduardo is 13 years old. He runs. He’s very agile. No one can stop him. Through alleys, up hills or over rooftops, he’s the best. He wears only sandals and knee length shorts. An AK47 dangles from a leather strap around his neck. His small dark hands are always holding it, caressing it. Eduardo named the weapon: Manuela. Don’t bother asking him why. He won’t tell. A friend said something about a broken heart. The weapon is part of his body, an extension of his arms. It sleeps in Eduardo’s bed; it stays by his side when he is eating and even when he is bathing in a nearby river. It’s never more than a step away.

Omar, 21, lived many years in Canada but resides, for now, at the Guantanamo Base in Cuba. He is in prison because, when he was 14, he was accused of throwing a grenade that injured one and killed another American soldier in Afghanistan. His father, a close friend to Osama Bin Laden, was what is called a “freedom fighter”. He died in the battlefield. Omar’s brother lost a leg fighting the coalition forces near Kabul, and his mother and sister, who live in Toronto, openly preach war against westerners, mainly through suicide bombers. The young the attacker, the better.
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They have three kids, a mortgage and condo fees. They pay hydro, water, heat, cable, internet, cell phones, a land line, the lease of two cars and cereal boxes fill up the kitchen cabinets to the brim. It is a cliché, but it’s not my fault: karate classes for their twin sons and ballet lessons for the girl.

Despite their best efforts, bills are starting to pile up. Mary “The Web Designer” and Harry “The Speech Writer” are turning into “The Juggler Couple”. And they are working harder than ever to avoid becoming “The Insolvent Couple”.

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