Mithilesh is not well. He didn’t eat all day. Puked twice. He’s playing fine. Not much change. Just his unquenchable hunger is amiss. He’s a weak child. Has always been a weak child. And then he flung himself off the roof after his mother two month back, falling all the way to the ground, missing the neighbour’s tank. Impulsive. Always impulsive. He’s been limping ever since. Walks like a new born calf. He seems to be growing fine waist above but the rest is quite fragile. He’s the polio baby of the house and now he’s sick!
It’s such a traumatic experience to own cats. Dogs can be chained up, taken for walks when they need to poop but cats don’t even recognise people beyond their immediate surroundings. Mithilesh wouldn’t recognise me if he saw me outside, on the road. And they choose to strangle themselves if chained. And what devil would want to chain such delicate necks anyway?
You have to let them go. Have faith in god that they’ll come back. Or at least be alive.
I’ve been living in this house for the past 15 years. I’ve had 10-12 cats. They arrive one day on the balcony with thread-like tails and emotionally blackmail me into putting out bowls of milk and dry hard chapattis and then within 2-3 months they’d quit omnivorousness and switch to pure protein meals.
They need to be thrown out before I close my eyes for the day or I’ll have to clean something very stinky from a very difficult spot or just throw out a dear pillow. Neither of them being suitable options. Yet, throwing them out often turns out to be a hazardous option, especially for them.
Before I can stretch out that tired spine of mine I’ll be standing in attention (in the balcony) to a horrible howling from somewhere nearby. Banging the rails with a broom, saying loud “hoosh hossh” serves little purpose than making a fool out of me.
The elaborate threat songs are followed by elaborate fights and my poor dear pet would jet into the room (the minute he get’s lucky), smelling of every sort of horrid stink I had been trying to get rid of in the first place. They would further be accompanied by a bleeding leg or elbow.
Felu has killed all my cats save the two I currently have. I have had uncountable teary nights but Felu’s tyranny has continued. Dad says we should get a gun and kill him. Mum says there’s something supernatural about that cat. I agree with both.
How is it that till the time any one of us is awake he’d not appear, the minute we dozed off we’d be woken up by an unpleasant melee where my cat is being unfurred by the Black Demon. Dad is trying to kick him apart, I’m hitting him with a book (imagine the panic… I’m hitting him with a BOOK) and mum is screaming to scare it away. In fact we are all screaming but Felu is determinedly pursuing his job.
To think, he must have been a tiny kitten, playing with his own tail, some long lost day. He might have been like Mithilesh with big eyes, a bit of a squint and crazy playful and somebody’s favourite, who naively meowed into the night before learning his silent dark ways.
P.S: I do not believe in black=evil or the whole black cat myth and neither am I endorsing it. I do put out food for him on harsh cold nights while rats hibernate.