By Parika Singh
“Ow! Ow! Ouch!”, I muttered in pain as blood trickled down my wrist making it difficult to hold on to the dirty squirming creature tucked under my arm trying to free itself by grabbing onto my increasingly muddy t-shirt. I looked around at the pile of rubble and sand on the under construction roof on the fourth floor of an exposed brick building near my house and fixed my gaze at the culprit responsible for this untimely adventure. Razor sharp golden brown eyes innocently stared back at me completely oblivious to my discomfort and lazily started licking its tail.
I had successfully managed to avoid any social interactions around my neighborhood for 26 years but in the past six months I had been forced to ring several doorbells dutifully following two mischievous brats constantly landing themselves in inconvenient scrapes necessitating my involvement in needlessly adrenaline fueled escapades, the latest ending with dirt on my cheek, multiple cuts on my hand, a tiny fur ball still wriggling around my elbow and its slightly older version gracefully following me down several flights of steps on our way home while I was nodding along the way to the residents of the building whose curious glances asked the unspoken question I get quite often these days, “are those really your cats?”
The strangest thing about this strange journey is that it began with a word. “No!” “No, no, no!” Not again, I thought, as I heard my mother’s protests while lamenting the destruction of yet another batch of perfectly laid out sweets and savories for the ongoing Diwali festivities in November. “Did she sneak in again?” I enquired. My mother pointed towards the upturned tray and half eaten soiled food in frustration and said, “I don’t know what to do. No matter how firmly it is sealed, she manages to find a way inside and spoil something every day”. My father had the perfect solution to the problem. He started leaving a bowl of milk outside on the porch so that she didn’t feel the need to search for sustenance inside the house. That was all it took for an ordinary hazel brown stray cat to come to our house everyday and scream for dairy products with all of her feline entitlement.
I had never imagined having pets around me. Growing up in a house with grandparents who were not fond of animals to my mother’s aversion to anything that can disturb her home’s pristine hygiene, I had never even wished for one. I loved animals but I preferred them at a distance. I enjoyed visiting friends who had dogs bouncing around their yard but didn’t feel the inclination to go near them. And I didn’t know anyone who had a cat. Up until then, they were just small stealthy beings fond of crawling through cracks in kitchen windows and ruining entire pails of milk just for the sake of a few sips.
So for the first few days, I didn’t pay attention to the newest addition of our household, often found lounging on the porch chairs quietly waiting for my father’s return. But one day my father was getting late and requested me to fill up her bowl. I went to do so unwillingly and ended up staying outside to watch her drink out of morbid curiosity. Surprisingly, every tiny movement was endlessly fascinating to me and I didn’t realize that nearly half an hour had passed. As soon as my father came, she went running to greet him in her usual fashion of rubbing her head against his leg and it made me want to earn that kind of trust as well. I went back inside but couldn’t stop thinking about her sitting on her hind legs, ready to pounce upon an unassuming moth and I had this sudden urge to know more about her. By the end of the week, I had learnt as much about her as was possible without actually going to a veterinary school. I didn’t know how long she was planning on visiting but regardless of whether it was temporary or permanent, I wanted to make her stay as comfortable as possible. It took some convincing but eventually the milk was replaced by cat food, there were balls for her to play with and she was simply christened ‘Mau’.
I had recently quit my job and I was lacking purpose and struggling with an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness that threatened to envelope me the longer I stayed isolated, refusing to communicate my fears with the people around me. But her presence was embalming in my life, gently soothing open wounds, seeking comfort in my company and giving me a joyful reason to look forward to each day. I slowly got to know her soft spots and defensive triggers, her varied sounds and favorite scratching posts. In return, she memorized my voice and all the different ways that can be used to reach my room and find me.
Most days, I would usually be awoken by the sound of her incessant meowing for meals, repeated every few hours intercepted by demands to spend time with her, during which she would scream till I would come outside and then ignore me till I left. But some days, the most difficult ones, in which I was burdened by the monotony of life and unable to match the throbbing pace of the world, I would unexpectedly be greeted by a furry embrace. I vividly remember one cold evening last December in which I was huddled against the couch clutching my legs against my chest as a tear sidled down my face and I suddenly felt something sliding against my back. Mau had somehow sensed that I was in pain and had jumped up to cuddle next to me and refused to leave till the world had started feeling so much warmer lying next to her. I had gotten used to a more calming life with a quiet presence next to my feet until one morning in February when another tiny kitten entered my garden.
He was a miniature replica of my majestic queen and the strong scent of her food had attracted another stray who decided to make it his abode despite Mau’s reservations. She tried to shake him off her territory but he came persistently till she realized that it would take far less effort to befriend him. The food bowls and scratching posts doubled overnight but so did the boundless energy in my front yard which invariably seeped into my life. My quiet cat who cried for occasional meals was replaced by two inseparable fur balls who jumped on furniture and ran across the yard and decimated everything in their path. They ate and slept together and played and fought with equal vigor. It took weeks for the little kitten to utter a sound in my presence but as soon as I heard the tiny squeak for the first time, I knew that he would forever be known as ‘Miu’.
By March, the cool air was welcoming a warmer breeze as the ground was being kissed by falling leaves. Before they came into my life, I had never taken the time to sit and absorb the sheer magnitude and beauty of a pulsating life around me. But the existence of a living breathing creature can teach us so much about the world we live in. I saw the changing shades of the trees they climbed and the rich colors of the birds they watched and named all the street dogs they avoided and saw myriad of insects they attacked. With the first showers in May coaxing a dry earth to break open and bloom, a butterfly sat on my open palm as a frog leaped across my drenched garden. And two cats snored on a plush leather chair, hugging each other for warmth, content in the knowledge that their bellies are full and they are safe in these harsh conditions.
As they got used to the wet weather, Mau and Miu started exploring the area and took longer trips around the street often disappearing for hours. Usually they came back at the end of the day tired and hungry but sometimes they got stuck in a neighboring house forcing me to extract them from precarious situations after a long explanation to the owners who hadn’t seen me since I was a kid. One such exploration led to this bloody sweaty condition of mine because Miu was trapped on a construction site and Mau screamed and paced agitatedly till I followed her and climbed these dilapidated stairs to rescue him. He was terrified and shaking and as soon as I picked him up, he started scratching me in defense and laid his mud dripping paws all over me. As soon as she brought me to him, Mau considered it an adequate fulfillment of her obligation and ignored both of us the entire way back.
Once we reached home, I filled their bowls with food and tended to my wounds. I saw all the different injuries I had accumulated over the months and watched them play with a card bordered delivery box, the excitement of the day already forgotten. I couldn’t help but smile. I had been smiling a lot lately. With each accidental scratch to my skin on the surface, an internal scar had slowly healed. I think of all the things I’d say if they could understand me. “Do you have any idea what you have done for me?” I might ask or “you have changed my life”, I’d convey or perhaps a more pragmatic “please stop bringing dead animals as gifts just because you think I’m not capable of hunting”, I’d implore. But as I saw two pairs of bright soulful eyes looking up at me, I sat down on the floor, brushed my fingers on their heads and settled for a whispered “thank you”.
