The Cats in Our Lives
They rule. They demand respect. They sleep.
Cats are beguiling to me. I find their sensibilities and judgements impressive. I’ve never once talked with a cat and felt not reciprocated or at least, understood. Unless it was a kitten, in which case I was less focused on its philosophical views and more focused on enjoying its soft, warm, fluffy presence.
An Unexpected Guest, and a Privilege
At the start of pandemic, I moved into a new place that had its own secluded front and back yards. One night when I was alone there came a loud crash… a violent BANG near the back door. I spook easy, but that’s about it. Taking a long steadying breath, I opened the door slowly.
There gleamed a black beauty amidst the wildness. The backyard was part of her daily route around the housing society. She had chosen to announce her presence by landing on top of the newly installed AC machine next to the door, instead of slinkering by my place.
How thrilled was I to make her majesty’s acquaintance!
She hunted mice and squirrels and pigeons whenever she saw the opportunity. Always enterprising, never one to idle when a challenging prey made its presence known in the vicinity. I’ll always remember the amusing scene of her chasing a deft mongoose, both jumping inverted U-s among a riot of dandelions in the front yard. She knew it’s impossible to catch the fat Indian robins who dared whoosh close by her as if to shoo her away. Laid out comfortably amidst my winter plants, roasting lightly under the sun’s mild rays, she used to chitter softly to show her exasperation at those pesky flying divebombs.
Irrespective of mood or situation, that cat emanated grace. I’ll remember her as the wise master of her domain.
Everytime I fished out my phone to snap a shot, she’d oblige and let me capture her class and sass.
Mao had a taste for the finer things in life. She liked to snooze among plants, and many a times I saw her nosing the flowers.
Here she is, punching a freshly bloomed rose. Exercise, I suppose.
Cottage cheese, curd, and cheese slices were her favourite snacks. She was never greedy for food, and always expressed her appreciation by twitching her tail and closing her eyes with a serene expression whenever the hooman offered her kibbles or meat or milk.
There was a time when I noticed a subtle shift in Mao’s mannerisms — she was being shifty, preferring to keep a good distance between us, hurriedly slurping milk and making a bit of mess that’s unusual for her, and exposing the murder claws often while snatching up pieces of treats. I pointed this out to my friend, and we laughed at her shifty-ness.
One fine night we heard an intense burst of yowling outside. I stepped out surreptitiously, expecting to find Mao in a duel with one her ‘feeling cute might delete later’ tom friends.
I couldn’t believe my eyes.
And I knew instantly no one else will believe my story, if I showed no proof! There stood a replica of Mao (later renamed Shifty) — her tail fluffing and body swaying ominously as she issued threats to Mao, who in turn was exhibiting the exact same pose and menacing demeanour two feet away.
It was all very exciting, I was absolutely delighted to discover that a cat had been swindling me for weeks with perfect expertise. I still cannot confidently point out which is Mao and which is Shifty in the video! Anyway, Shifty ceased her trips to our place after this encounter. I think.
Mao brought her occasional kids along, to let the hooman feed them and give them warm shoeboxes for cold nights. I assumed I was the godmother of one, two, two and four kittens, on separate occasions. If I ever disclosed intentions of ush-pushing them (my lingo for mild smothering, what you usually lovingly do to small furry babies) I was discouraged gently but actively by the thoughtful mother. She needed them to be wild and free. She taught them how to playfight and hunt and fend for themselves… destroying many a lush, dense bush and flowering hedge of our gardens in the process.
I watched her often, and conversed with her whenever she was amenable — as I knew that I loved her, and I might have to go my separate way one day leaving her behind.
I know she’s ruling the roost, business as usual for her. I hope she’s safe, warm and well-fed, and is adored by other lucky hoomans.
She was the quintessential Jiji of my Ghibli gardens.
Hope you enjoyed the tale!
Photos © Shreyasi
