My experiences with cats final part

We were simply dumbfounded, dis​com​bob​u​lated. Who would bite mom in that crowded place? I had read stories about Count Dracula, who loved sucking blood of his victims, but he would never choose this crowded place for his supper. But, my mom was indeed in agony, her face told it. We always knew that she was hyper, but this had to be real, considering the contortions in her face, the flushes of tears trilling down her heavily rouged cheeks, completely ruining her make-up, which she must have put on after hours of tedious work.

When urged to explain the matter, firstly, she pointed towards her left heel, which was bleeding slightly, and then she pointed towards the footpath. There was no doubt in our mind that there was something in the footpath that made that tiny cut in my mom's left heel. But, we could not see anything tangible threat there. My mom said that it must have fled.

Upon pressing her further to reveal the matter clearly, we came to know that there was a plump ginger cat resting on the pavement, whose existence mom was completely unaware of before stamping on his tail. Cheetahs or cats, no matter which species the feral creatures belong, one thing is very common about them is the fact that they simply adore their tails. Their tails are like gods! Any insult upon their precious possession, they will not tolerate it: they would protest, and as a matter of fact, of which my poor mom fell victim of, they don't believe in Gandhism.

When my mom, unknowingly though, put her left foot on the proud tail of the feline creature, he couldn't tolerate the unimaginable insult, which, perhaps, nobody that far had inflicted upon him. No wonder, he bit my mom's heel before going to heal his injured vanity in some secluded place. As I wrote earlier, father had had a good experience regarding how to react to bites of domestic animals beforehand.

So, instead of panicking, he simply enquired about the pedigree and conduct of the cat from various nearby shopkeepers. We were satisfied to know that the ginger cat, named Sallu, was adored very much by them, and he hadn't bitten anyone before that incident. Father told them to keep a close watch on him, as he would visit after a week to enquire about the well-being of Sallu Mian. He did it rigorously for a fortnight, and found him to be jolly and gay. This story ends here.

After a gap of two decades, I had another encounter with cats, which would constitute the final part of this blog. The faint-hearted people among you are advised to leave here as this incident you might find a bit unpleasant. At that time, I was living in a nondescript place in Nadia district. Krishnagar was my district headquarter where I had to visit once a month for meetings. One of my office staff had a car, and he used to take me there, out of coutesy, on such dates. He was a master in bike-riding, but car driving was not his cup of tea, which he had learned just a few months back after buying an azure Hyundai car, and that too by self-learning.

At that time, I didn't have much love for cats, as I had been a bit bugged by them in my place of residence. I shouldn't say them, because there was only one sable cat with tawny eyes which resembled a ghost in dark nights, and there were no dearth of dark nights due to frequent load cuttings. This mysterious creature had an odd knack of entering my flat on any pretext: whether in search of leftovers in the garbage bin or for her fondness for the warmth of my bed in my drawing room, where I kept a spare cot. 

As I said her color was sable, and eyes were tawny which changed their appearance at night, turning into burning coal, sometimes, I shuddered watching them, even though I was very courageous. Her sight was nothing more than an irritant to the eye, but what made me hate her was her habit of using my spare bed as if she owned it.

The moderate flat where I lived had three rooms, one drawing room, one dining room, and one bed room. I had two cots, of which one was at my bed room where she didn't have the guts to venture, and one was at the drawing room, where I used to spend evenings by watching television or gossiping with neighbours. There were 3 windows in that room, of which two were always closed, as they faced a swamp, which was a rich breeding ground for mosquitoes. But, I had to keep one window, facing the front, open for want of fresh air. This crafty creature took advantage of that, and had no qualms about using my bed for her comfort.

As I said, load-shedding was a routine feature in those semi-urban areas, there used to befrequent encounters with dark nights. But, it was not just the power cuts that bothered me, because for power cuts every one would suffer, and the power would come back eventually. But, my flat had also suffered from many short-circuits, where the fuse would be blown. That was why I was a bit jumpy to ascertain whether it was load-shedding or it was my fecking fuse that gave away!

This was the reason, I always visited the veranda to see my neighbourhood -- whether it was flushed with bright lights or it was solemn dark like mine --  and the veranda was in front of the drawing room.  In the process of ascertaining whether I had to awake my landlord for fixing the fuse, or I should wait for the line to come, I often found this unwholesome creature majestically snuggling on my bed. I must admit that it was extremely dexterous, because whenever I tried to throw something  -- whether a sandal or a magazine  -- or to wield a stick at it, it would vamoose in no time, as if it knew dark magic.

Therefore, despite taking the risk of less air passage in my flat, I chose to close all the windows in that room. Indeed, it yielded good result of her never ever getting a free access to my bed, but as a revenge she had taken the game to a different level. By saying, "Khela hobe", she began to defecate in my veranda with poop and urine, at least, once every week.

The housemaid would grudge and grumble everytime she had to clean it, and her bitter tone suggested as if I told that freaking creature to do those obnoxious deeds to trouble her. But, I was helpless, beacuse I had no powers to prevent the pussycat from defecating my veranda. But as a result of the cat's constant acts of unhindered defiance and abominable insolence, I lost love with this particular species.

The final part happened during this time. As I wrote earlier that the office staff who was taking me back from Krishnagar to my apartment was a novice driver, who had learned driving from on one but himself, and who had just a learner's licence at that time, was driving cautiously in the city area. But when he entered the rural area, he became a tad bold and careless, continuously pressing his right foot on the gas pedal as if it was a toy to experiment.

I had no intention of disturbing him by talking to him, as I was a bit apprehensive of his driving skills. But he was in a joyous mood, probably from being relieved of the duty which had bored him for the last three hours or so, and he began to boast of the new chimney system that he had installed in his kitchen. When he learned that even I, a city-dweller, didn't have any such thing at that time, his joys knew no bound, and he became reckless in driving.

There was a huge noise as he made a sudden brake, and my head almost hit the front seat, while my spectacles flew off on to the car floor. After gathering my composure, when I enquired what had happened that made him to do this sudden brake, he had been already out of the car. His voice was throttled, his face was pale, and he pointed his fingers to a certain thing on the road and said,

" I am extremely sorry, Sir! I had no idea!"

I thought he was talking about his poor driving skills, and he had no idea of driving at a high speed. So, after an enormous effort of stifling my anger, I said rather calmly,

"It's okay. It happens to new drivers: these sudden brakes!"

He didn't seem to take heart at my consolation, as he continued lamenting,

"How can I wash my sin, Sir? How do I make penance?"

I was a bit astonishined because of his unduly scruples, as I thought making sudden brakes was not a big crime. Perhaps, he was thinking of  the discomfort that he caused me. Looking at my bewildered face, he understood that I had understood nothing. So he said,

" Sir, haven't you seen it? Please look there."

This time, looking at his pointed fingers, I could see the reason of his scruples. Indeed,  there was something very unpleasant and gory spectacle lying in front of me. I took a stride forward to see that a little kitten, hardly one month old, milky white in colour, was lying in a pool of blood. My inexperienced driver had crushed it under the left front wleel of his car. The tiny innocent creature must have been like a soft, fluffy white clew. But, at that time, its tender body was maimed, mashed, ground by some evil power, and was covered with blood, and most importantly, it ceased to breathe. In short, my greenhorn driver took a kitten's life.

I knew that people like him might not have been village idiots, but they were prejudiced to the core. I understood that he would lose his sleep for many nights before losing his health caused by extreme mental agony. So, I had to find a remedy for him, lest I should lose the service of one my important employees.

I told him that since he had popped the clogs of a cat, which is considered as a vahana of Ma Sahsthi, a goddess of fertility, he should do his atonement by offering a grand puja of the said goddess, and not to forget about feeding Bhahmins of his village. He seemed to have been satisfied by that solution after asking numerous times whether it would suffice, and later on I learned that he did exactly what was bid.

My story ends here. Please feel free to comment.

My experiences with cats: Part 1

 

Some people love cats, while some despise them as if they were untouchables. I know of a Bengali jounalist who had 17 pet cats in her house (the number might have increased manifolds by now). Just imagine the scenario when she enters her flat. Surrounded by cats: here a cat, there a cat; everywhere a cat cat; here a meow, there a meow, everywhere a meow meow. A cat on your lap, while a cat on your hat. A fat cat, a bony cat, a sable cat, a tabby cat and whatnot! Personally, I have nothing against them, and at the same time, I have no fascination for them either. Let me tell you a few experiences of mine with this feline creature.

My mother used to hate cats as much as a pious Muslim hates eating pork. In my childhood, I always wanted to have some animal as a pet in my house. I loved watching them. My first choice, though, was dog. Once, a bitch (literally so) gave birth to 6 snowy healthy puppies. Two of them died, while four survived. All the children in our locality adored them (if you don't love a puppy, I am afraid, you are heartless), but no one was ready to adopt any of them. However, I was eager to adopt one. When I raised the issue with my parents, my father had no objections, but my mother dug in her heels. The reasons: it would make the house dirty, it would not survive without its mother's care and most importantly to her wild imaginations, it might bit us. She told me stories about dogs who bit their owners to death before eventually eating them.

When my first application was rejected, I was disheartened a bit, beacuse I, indeed, loved one the pups and was almost sure of adopting him, but I filed my second appeal. What about a tiny little kitten? A fluffy furball? It would not be ferocious, and it would be easier to manage. I vouched that I would clean the mess, it might create. But, my mother said she read somewhere that the hair of a cat could cause a deadly disease called diphtheria. So, she sneered at my proposal, and the left the room in a pet. She had lot of objections towards adopting birds as well, but somehow I eventually managed to adopt a bird. I will tell you about that story later.

I strongly doubt about the cocept of karma, but there were some strange occurrences with my mother regarding cats and dogs, where some diabolical mind might infer that she paid for her karma. Let me first tell you about the incident involving dogs.

My mother hated dogs to the extent of having them in her house, but not to the extent that she would deny the poor creatures of the leftovers of our meals. There was a dog, whom she herself named as "Blackeyes" because of the black stains around her eyes, who used to eat the leftovers which was thrown away towards her. As it became a regular wont, she would come early and wait for mom to come out to the kitchen veranda to throw the leftovers.

One day, we heard her fearful screams after dinner. When we rushed to the spot, she told us that Blackeyes had bit her. When we enquired further, we came to know that while she was throwing away the leftovers, Blackeyes, who might have been starving for want of food, in her desperation to grab some grub, jumped and took the food directly from my mom's hand. In the process, my mom got a tiny little cut in her right forefinger. There were a few droplets of blood.

My mother was a kind of hypersensitive person, and she took no time to raise a hue and cry. She was sanguine of getting rabies. She was so pessimistic that she thought that she would eventually die a painful death. Though very rational, my father was not a man of science. He didn't know much about rabies. So, being very scared, next day, as the incident happened at night, and we all had to bear with mother's wailing and forebodings about her imminent death, he took mother to the local hospital.

Fortunately, the doctor was a sane guy, and he asked whether the dog that bit mom was a healthy one or a sickly one. There was no reason to believe that the little bitch, which was around one year old, had any symptoms of being rabid. Hearing that the doctor advised dad to keep a close watch on that bitch. He told dad to inform him if that bitch showed any signs of ferocity or any abnormality. Meanwhile, he administered a Tetvac and told mom to chill. The dog stayed healthy and story ends here. But, the agony of my mom with domestic animals didn't end there.

A few years later, we went to the Gariahat market, which was renowned for being the best apparel market in West Bengal, for puja shopping. Durga puja is the carnival that the Bengalis enjoy most, and they save throughout the year to indulge in a shopping spree for this occasion. I didn't have much interest in buying clothes, but my main attraction for these going-outs was food. Being a gourmet, some people had sometimes accused me of a being a gormandizer, unjustly though, my sole concern was food. So, when we were done with buying my yellow baggy t-shirt and blue jeans, I lost all interest in the purchase of my parents' clothes.

It didn't take much time to buy my father's attire, but my mother, being very finicky about her dresses, took eons to choose her saris. She visited two renowned shops without much success, and eventually we were in the third shop. By that time, it felt like angry rats were marching in my stomach, and even each second passed seemed epochs to me. I was praying to God to end my ordeal soon. My father, too, had had enough, and when he pressed her to choose from that prestigious shop and that too quickly, finally, she had to submit, but with a lot of grudges. She wanted to see more. Father consoled her by saying that he would bring her here in Christmas again.

At last, we came out of the shop, and my father asked me the question which I had been longing to hear. It was about the food, but he told me to choose something that would not take long to prepare, as it was  by then quite late. I had had heard of a food shop named Beduin, which was famous for its rolls. It was famous because their cuisine was exquisite: they added boiled potatoes mixed with special masalas in their rolls, making the taste awesome. At that time, and even nowadays, other shops added only cucumber, onion and few sauces in their rolls. No wonder whosoever had tasted Beduin's rolls had praised them wholeheartedly. I, too, had heard it from my friends, and I had no difficulty in suggesting that we should get 3 egg rolls from Beduin.

Beduin was not a permanent shop situated in the market, but it was temporary stall near the footpath. As it was famous, there was quite a throng near it. We ordered 3 egg rolls, but there was already a queue, and we knew we had to wait. While we waited, we had been constantly jostled by the great crowd which gathered for puja shoppings. My father never liked hustle and bustle, so he gave mother the money and took me to a relatively less-crowded place. While we waited, we suddenly heard a scream from a womanly voice, and the voice seemed a bit familiar to me. I thought my dad, too, had the same line of thought as he asked, "Did your mom scream?"

We were just 10 meter away from Beduin, and it took no time for us to reach there. We asked mom whether she screamed, merely hoping that the sound came from somewhere else. But, when we looked at her face, it was full of tears, and she told us,

"It bit me. I am going to die."

Picture taken from net 

Final part on next Saturday