Matt Owens Rees

Part 6 of 14: Feeding the Cat

In this quietly revealing chapter, Derek wakes to a still Sunday morning and begins to see Toy’s world through new eyes.

A rabbit named Brown waits patiently for breakfast, while Toy’s modest flat becomes a lens into Thai domestic life, social expectations, and the quiet pressures of living in a different culture.

Back in the UK, stress mounts—at work, at home, and in waiting for messages from Toy. But Thailand beckons again, with moobaan villages to explore, futures to imagine, and in my having to correct the English of the teachers in Toy’s school.

Derek’s reflections on home ownership, inheritance, and cultural difference are tinged with hope, doubt, and a growing sense that he’s no longer just passing through.

Domestic Stillness and Private Realisations

I woke early on Sunday, leaving Toy asleep for as long as possible. She was due back at school by 10 a.m., and I knew there was no respite in her working life. Boarding schools require at least two staff on duty at all times.

I woke her at nine. Left alone for the morning, I found myself visualising Toy’s life with Kanya. The flat was modest, but Toy had made it a home. A place to raise her daughter.

Yes, it could use a fresh coat of paint and perhaps some modern furniture, but it was more than adequate—it was a space to sleep, to live, to belong.

Toy’s computer sat in the corner, the same one she and Kanya must have used to message me and other men on dating forums.

Books and school papers were piled nearby. Shoes, still boxed, were stacked neatly by the metal door.

In front of the bed stood a cabinet with the television on top. I pictured Toy and Kanya curled up, watching Thai soaps before drifting off to sleep.

The two-piece suite and small chair near the computer were buried under more books and papers—no room to sit. Thais are great hoarders.

A double wardrobe bulged with clothes. A set of drawers stood beside it. The two-piece suite and small chair near the computer were buried under more books and papers—no room to sit. Thais are great hoarders.

Toy and Kanya clearly found the main living room comfortable, and likely better than what Toy’s father had back in Tak. Most foreigners wouldn’t have liked it.

It lacked the facilities they’ve come to expect. Intermittent water, internet, and electricity frustrate many farangs in Thailand.

My thoughts were interrupted by a scratching sound from the balcony.

I opened the door to find Brown, the pet rabbit, standing with his plastic bowl in his mouth. Waiting to be fed.

I gave him food, poured myself a coffee, and watched the world outside unfold.

A young father in shorts and vest cradled a child. Mothers rode off on motorbikes, children clinging to the pillion seat, heading to the market.

Washing was hung out to dry. Police officers strapped on sidearms. No one seemed in a hurry. It was a tranquil scene.

Toy’s home

Toy’s home was near Chiangmai’s Jet Roi Pee sports complex, built in the 1990s to commemorate the city’s 700-year history.

The stadium offers swimming pools, athletics tracks, tennis and basketball courts. Locals jog and cycle there, especially in the early morning and late evening.

Out of town, walkers and runners dodge motorbikes on the busy sois.

✈️ Departures, Stress, and the Weight of Silence

This was only my second trip to Thailand.

With hindsight, I could see that Toy and I were being gently nudged into a future—mapped out by her friends and colleagues.

We were seen as a couple. Invitations to parties and social events came regularly. I was being groomed for Thai life.

Reading body language was never my strong point. I often failed to grasp what people were truly thinking.

Toy was crying

My twelve days passed quickly, and soon I was at Chiangmai airport, Toy beside me. Her eyes were red from crying. Unlike my last farewell, she was alone.

I wanted to comfort her, to reassure her we’d be together again soon. But I couldn’t offer false hope. I couldn’t make promises I might break.

“Be strong,” I said. And one promise I knew I could keep: “I’ll contact you every day.”

Office Politics

Back in the UK, work was grim. Targets, targets, targets. Pressure to push business that wasn’t in the customers’ best interests.

Redundancies meant more work landed on my desk. The bosses were playing games, and I seemed to be the main target.

My doctor put me back on medication for stress.

My ex-wife taunted me about my “Thai whore.” I rarely saw Michael, though I kept my promise to message Toy daily. That helped me stay sane.

Evenings were spent flicking through TV channels or messaging Toy.

I had no interest in friends—they wouldn’t understand.

In retrospect, a pint at The Red Lion might have helped. A down-to-earth view of my life from the regulars.

You lose a lot of “friends” when you divorce. No one wants a singleton at their party.

I didn’t tell Toy about the work problems or the abuse from my ex, but I think she sensed something. A woman’s intuition, perhaps.

I booked another flight for 17 December. I wasn’t going to spend Christmas in the UK ever again.

At the airport, my phone rang—my solicitor. A buyer had been found for the house. They wanted to exchange contracts before year-end.

With the holidays looming, that was unlikely. I couldn’t get off the plane to sign anything. It would wait until January.

The ex had agreed to the price at the last minute. Good news. I’d tell Toy when we met, but I’d also warn her things could still go pear-shaped.

🏡 House-Hunting and Cultural Expectations

Toy and I began looking at houses. It was enjoyable—exciting, even—to tour the moobaans and compare styles. We didn’t look outside the gated communities.

Toy said most foreigners preferred the security and amenities: clubhouses, pools, Western-style facilities. I hadn’t spoken to other farangs, but she was probably right.

In retrospect, I should have asked Richard and the few expats I knew. We didn’t realise—perhaps neither of us did—that these facilities come at a cost.

You pay whether you use them or not. Water and electricity bills are inflated by developer markups. Once the site is sold, services may decline. It depends on the developer.

Toy also said I’d be more likely to meet Westerners in a moobaan than in a Thai village. That made sense.

But I was beginning to see how much of my future was being shaped by assumptions—hers, mine, and those of the people around us.

Toy wasn’t keen to rent. Her previous home with Somchai had been rented. For Thais, owning land and a house is a dream.

If there are children, parents strive to leave enough land for them to build their own homes when they marry. Not all families can achieve that, but the desire runs deep.

I could see Toy would feel more secure if we married and bought a house “together.” Together—in the Thai legal sense—was a fiction. She would own it completely. I had to accept that. It would be Kanya’s inheritance.

My own son could never inherit it. It wouldn’t feature in my will.

There was logic in Toy’s thinking. I accepted it. I also knew it would be hard for her to explain to friends and colleagues why, with a farang partner, she was still renting.

We continued to look at properties while doing the usual tourist rounds and spending time with her friends. I was still in love with Thailand. And this Thai lady was becoming central to my life.

I thought we could have a good life together. It wouldn’t be that different from the West. I could adapt. We’re all human.

Thais aren’t so different from Westerners—at least, that’s what I believed at the time.

Cultural problems, I thought, were exaggerated. I could handle it.

📚 Education, Translation, and Quiet Contributions

I enjoyed my Christmas break in Thailand. I couldn’t see myself spending another Christmas in the UK. My mind was on the house sale, but I didn’t want to discuss it with Toy.

I bottled up the stress. Probably not wise, but I didn’t want her to share my burden.

I spent time at Toy’s school, helping with English translations for promotional materials. I even tidied up a document destined for the education ministry in Bangkok.

I was happy to help, but I wished there were more support from the ministry—more investment in teacher training and language skills.

That wasn’t unique to Toy’s school. Funding is limited. Thailand employs fewer qualified foreign teachers than other ASEAN countries. Where foreigners are hired, standards vary. One wonders if references are ever checked.

Other ASEAN nations pay foreign teachers more. They seem to take education more seriously.

Brown, the rabbit, was always waiting for me in the mornings. Bowl in mouth, eyes expectant. He became part of the rhythm. A small creature, quietly anchoring me to this life I was building.

Feeding Brown, helping Toy’s school, walking through moobaans—it was all part of the same slow shift. I was no longer just visiting Thailand. I was beginning to live it.