Possibly the only thing more sacred to a belly dancer than her bedleh is her beast.
While we compare cup-sizes, gigs booked, the cost of our costumes and the accuracy of our balancing skills, dancers boast most loudly about their beloved pets.

These are our friends, our companions, our children. And we all love those four-legged fur babies don‘t we? All cute and purring, wagging and cuddly. Hommous wouldn’t melt in their mouths.

We envision our kittens as having lived in the time of the Pharaohs, proudly defending the throne of their beloved mistress. Puppies are reincarnated from hieroglyphics, having proudly served their masters after spending an eternity as half man, half dog.

But those modern freeloaders don’t seem to share the same romantic notions as I do about the ancients. My four-legged family sneaks into my dressing room and nests in my hundred dollar silk skirts and veils. Reuben, my puppy, ‘accidentally" downloaded doggie porn while trying to retrieve a ‘chewy’ from my laptop.
For my efforts in caring for these little furry royals, I get my fringe chased, my veils snagged and don’t even get me started on the ‘heckling’ I get when I practice my zills! These guys have packed themselves in my gig bags and nearly made it to my job on more than one occasion!

I share my heart and my home, currently, with two cats and a dog. I’ll be the first to admit that I live a confused life and that, in part explains why my 20 & 10 lb cats fetch and my 6 lb Chihuahua purrs.

Murphy, my eldest cat is my constant companion. He adores the swish of my veils, the jingle of a hip scarf. Deep down, I know that he wishes to dance Raqs Pussycat. While I, decked out in my assuit, and swinging a cane, am often accompanied by Murphy, swinging his tail in perfect saidi rhythm.

Murphy

Edgar, second in line to the cat throne, was born deaf and, believe it or not, is the only one in the fur-family who is appalled by my zill playing. The vibrations from my Saroyans makes my little guy dash out of the room like his tail was on fire. He’ll have none of it. I can’t say as I blame him…I’m no Aszmara…

However, he is a big fan of the art of Middle Eastern dance.. Being deaf, you can imagine, Edgar‘s vision is quite key. He adores mommy’s costumed dances, especially in low-light. I discovered early in his kitten hood that Edgar goes positively wild when he sees the beam of a flashlight in the house. He would eagerly chase any light that passed through the house, like a car’s lights from the street on our interior walls. I also discovered that stepping costumed into the light causes a meteor shower of twinkle that makes him go stark raving wild. There is absolutely nothing that will make a belly dancer find religion faster than having 4 sets of claws flying at your new Eman Zaki from a 6 foot bookshelf.

My biggest challenge when dressing for a show is dodging Murphy’s paws, eager to grab at my fringe…but while dashing away from him, the sparkle of my sequins motions Edgar into a flying squirrel-like leap that is both terrifying and thrilling. It’s kind of like the first time your cat brings you something he’s killed. You’re positively horrified, yet somewhat proud of his accomplishment. Having to hide the claw-marks from dodging said mania is quite a challenge of my make-up skills.

Reuben, my Chihuahua, is the most recent addition to our family. He’s as sweet and affable an animal as I’ve ever met. So devoted to his people is this pup that he has packed his toys in my gig bag. Awwww…it’s obvious how much he loves me…right? He’s sending me off into the great outdoors with a little something to play with…a reminder of him…awww.

You have no idea how sweet, how unbelievably touching it is to arrive at the job and find a doggie slobbered muslin toy perched atop your favorite silk veil. Awwww.
I joke…but, deep inside, I do sometimes wish I could bring the whole entertaining pack of wild beasts to a gig. I’m sure if I put Reuben in a Fez, I could pass him off as an assistant. But how will I explain the rest of the whiskered entourage? And will a cat even wear a galabeya?