Lisa and her cat

Lisa, a young Trinidadian immigrant living in Toronto, moved to Montreal with one clear intention: to learn French, a dream she had carried since childhood. Back in Charlotteville, in Tobago, she used to play with the children of Haitians working there. She had always thought the way they spoke to one another was beautiful, melodic. After, her family immigrated to Toronto, her connection to her French-speaking friends quietly faded away. After graduating from University of Toronto, Lisa decided to dedicate a year of her life to learning a second language. What better way than to immerse herself completely? She moved to Montreal, determined to live and work in a French-speaking environment. She relished her newfound independence as a university graduate. For the first time, she truly felt free, eager to explore her adopted country and embrace a new, official Canadian language. Montreal, one of Canada’s most vibrant bilingual cities, seemed perfectly suited to help her become the bilingual professional she aspired to be. Settling in wasn’t too difficult. Lisa quickly found work as a waitress in a downtown restaurant and managed to secure a small bachelor apartment in a triplex, complete with a charming little balcony near Rue Frontenac. Life, at first, felt full of promise. She enrolled in a French school soon after arriving. Despite her enthusiasm, progress was slow and she became frustrated, finally admitting to herself that she was failing rather miserably. Thoughts of returning to Toronto began to creep into the back of her mind. There was one thing Lisa hadn’t anticipated: loneliness. In a new city, without friends or family, the isolation weighed heavily on her. Each evening, the silence in her apartment seemed louder than the last. It wrapped around her, persistent and suffocating. Longing for companionship, Lisa decided to adopt a cat. Since her arrival, she had heard people everywhere repeating a word that sounded funny, almost musical, to her ears. Without thinking much of it, she named her cat “Tabarnak,” amused by how effortlessly it rolled off her tongue. Life gradually settled into a routine: school, work, and quiet moments at home with her cat. Tabarnak was a tomcat, unneutered, street-smart, and fiercely independent. He marked his territory and chased after potential mates. Though not particularly aggressive, he never backed down from a fight with other cats. One quiet afternoon, on her day off, Lisa received an unexpected visit from two officers of the SPVM, the Service de Police de la Ville de Montréal. As she opened the door, one of the officers greeted her politely, “Bonjour, madame.” Lisa, unable to speak French, replied, “Good afternoon, officer. What can I do for you?” The officer, a tall, red-haired young man with a thick French accent, smiled reassuringly. “First of all, madame, you are not in any trouble. We are investigating what appears to be…” He paused, turning to his partner. “Comment dire ‘fou femme’ poliment en anglais?” His partner, a young woman, answered quickly, “Dites-lui que nous recherchons une femme très excentrique.” The officer nodded and continued, “…we are investigating what appears to be a very eccentric woman who we believe lives in this building.” Lisa blinked, puzzled. “I’m sorry, could you explain what you mean?” she asked, trying to understand. She clarified that she understood the words, but not the context. The second officer, a young South Asian woman with much more fluent English, stepped in gently. “Some of the neighbours have called the police,” she explained. “They’re not sure exactly where it’s coming from, but every evening, someone stands on a balcony and screams obscenities.” Lisa’s eyebrows shot up. “Obscenities?” “Well…” the officer continued, doing her best to remain professional, “around six o’clock each evening, someone stands on her balcony and yells ‘tabarnak, tabarnak, tabarnak.’ My apologies for the expression.” She hesitated. “What’s strange is that the person seems completely unconcerned that anyone can hear her.” “Have you heard anything like that?” the male officer asked. In that moment, realization hit Lisa like a wave. Her heart skipped. A flush rose to her cheeks. She quickly turned away, pretending to get a glass of water, desperate to hide her reaction. “No,” she replied, forcing calm into her voice. “I haven’t heard anything like that. My evenings are very boring. After I feed my cat, I leave for work, I start my shift at 7 p.m. Perhaps it happens after I’ve already gone.” As if on cue, Tabarnak wandered into the kitchen, purring, and meowing. At the sight of him, Lisa nearly choked on her water. A laugh threatened to escape. She fought it back desperately, her nerves betraying her. In that instant, she realized they were looking for her. Strangely, there was a certain comfort in knowing the officers had no idea it was her. They were simply trying to identify which balcony the mysterious voice was coming from. Lisa quickly decided the best course of action was to pretend she knew nothing about the so-called “eccentric woman” and she did just that. As the officers left to continue canvassing the building in search of their elusive suspect Lisa turned to her cat saying, “we’ll need to find another name for you.” An unnecessary clarification: unlike the French spoken in France, Québécois French often uses religious terms as swear words. The word “tabarnak,” derived from “tabernacle,” is one of the most common profanities in Quebec, roughly equivalent to dropping the English f-bomb.