A Cat Story

I have to admit that I wasn't always a pet lover. But ever since my youngest sister Saadia nurtured a young kitten which she, in my opinion, somewhat inappropriately called 'Pinky', I have steadily begun to shift to the other camp.

Pinky and I had something of a bond. In those ghastly days when I was enrolled in a dentistry program on my mother’s insistence, she used to sit in my lap in the mornings as I waited to catch the bus. I enjoyed her company; it was a nice distraction from thinking about the horrible day that awaited me at college. And then when I returned in the afternoons, she was again the first to greet me, wrapping around me as I walked in tired.

Some times I would be very annoyed by her unasked for affection, and would barely miss trampling on her in my preoccupation. But she was so persistent that she kept trying and inevitably, I fell in love with her too. She was (and still is) far too cute for anyone to not fall in love with, unless of course you're allergic to cats, which my mom and my other younger sister think they are. (I say think here because none of them have ever had a medical test to prove their claims, instead just sighting their overbearing fear of cats as an indication of their allergy, something I refuse to buy into.)

Ever since, my self, Saadia and my dad, the three people in our household that were in the opposite camp, pampered Pinky and others cats as much as we could. In addition to Pinky, Tommy and a host of other neighborhood cats had all came and almost permanently settled in our house.

All three of us, meaning my self, my dad and of course my sister, took care of them. I would secretly give them milk in the afternoons because I knew my mother would be furious if she found out. My dad on the other hand had no one to fear so he actually bought the cats custom made fat from the butchers every time he went to them to get supplies for the house. Saadia too, increasingly grew indifferent to my mother’s advice to “stay away from the cats”. She’d collect bones at every meal’s conclusion and ceremoniously call the cats and feed them. She didn’t stop here, occasionally even investing her pocket money on giving the cats treats by buying them expensive cat food.

In this way, the three of us all pampered and spoiled the cats in our own distinctive ways, but because Saadia took the initiative, they were always “officially” her cats and she’d take great pride in introducing them as such whenever curious young guests arrived.

When I moved over to my in-laws place this January I had never imagined that I'd miss these cats so much. I knew I was going to miss them a little bit, but this much, I didn't think it was possible. After all, I had a memories that I was leaving behind, in comparison with those I thought I’d barely remember the cats.

I told my self I could find new cats, every Karachi neighborhood has stray cats and I could pet one of them just like Saadia did. If not that, I could in the least strike out an adoption deal with Saadia whenever Pinky gives birth to her first liter (ever since we figured out Pinky had all grown up and was looking for a mate, we had been spying on every Tom cat in the neighborhood like anxious parents keeping a look out on children’s girl or boyfriends!)

But all this planning was dealt a blow when I discovered that my mother in law (like my mom) wasn’t too fond of having pets. I thought I’d get over it, but I ended up missing the pet element in my life a fair bit.



And I realized just how much I missed them every time I came back to my parent's place to visit. On my last visit a couple of week ago I finally got to see the three adorable kittens Pinky recently gave birth to. Saadia has somehow shed her tendency to name her pets absurdly and this time has called them Teddy, Daisy and Lilly.

They all resemble little tufts of black and white wool, running precariously around us and their mother. I was quite surprised to see that I was reacting in much the same manner as I would in the event of a human being giving birth, asking the same traditional questions (Does the baby look more like the mother or the father? Is the baby healthy or does he or she look weak?) but nevertheless feeling slightly jealous that my sister knew the answers and I could only guess.

Even Saadia hasn’t figured out the exact identity of the father though. She claims she has narrowed down the possibilities to one of two neighborhood Tom cats going by the fur colour of the new-borns but I’m not too sure of her calculations. What I am sure of though is that I want the cat element back in my life. Seeing my sister go on and on about her adorable cats, now up to a glorious five in total, including Pinky, her kittens Teddy, Daisy and Lilly and Tommy the second (the first once, may his soul rest in peace, died of unknown causes last summer), has made me sure that I cannot afford to lag behind in the race.



And as luck would have it, only the other day my husband and I discovered this feeble little creature in our back yard, completely out of the blue. For one whole day she did nothing but laze around in our yard, crying around as if she was in pain. Every time we try and went close to her though, she’d threaten, screeching and giving a complete picture of all her teeth, not even changing her attitude after she was given milk and fresh raw chicken meat to devour. We guessed as much that she had a semi-injured leg which reduced her mobility and that she was hungry, but we’re still trying to figure out why she’s so unfriendly. I understand she might have felt vulnerable at first, but surely if some one’s giving you food, drink and genuinely trying to be nice, this ought to be enough to remove any initial doubts. I couldn’t get my self to understand what this cat was thinking about.

Then I suddenly realized I was making a crucial presumption. All the cats I had encountered closely until now were those already tamed by my sister, and were hence quite comfortable around humans. This was a stray cat I was dealing with, who probably doesn’t like humans a lot to begin with. It was here that I realized that if I was to convert this cat, I’d have to make all the hard yards that my sister probably did in the first place. I had to convince this little fellow to allow me to be “frands” with her and only then I can teach her all the other pet stuff (beginning with some manners, like you don’t poo straight in front of the backyard’s door so that the entire back portion of the house starts smelling yucky!).

Another big and pleasant discovery I’ve made in this entire cat story is that my mom-in-law isn’t entirely averse to cats; in fact she told me the other day a stray cat’s four generations gave birth to their litters in her old home in Sharjah. She’s only uncomfortable with the idea of them strolling around freely inside the house. That’s something that can be perfectly worked inside with, I thought to my self.

Now all I need to do is win this cat over with the help of my more experienced sister’s cat parenting tips, teach her how to poo nicely and always stay out of the house, and viola, I’ll have a full fledge pet! Isn’t this totally wonderful?

PS: I also have to think of a name for it, suggestions most welcome. I don’t have a picture of her with me right now, but as a guide, she’s not as cute as Pinky, although they’re both the same colour. My cat has slightly more grey spots then Pinky and much bigger whiskers, which is why I’m thinking of calling it Whisky, but I know that sounds terrible, so better suggestions are most, most welcome.