“Soft Kitty, Warm Kitty, Little Ball of Fur…”
Sheldon Cooper sang on TV as I was idly catching up with an episode of The Big Bang Theory on a lazy Sunday afternoon.
A sudden loud clamour echoed loudly, shattering the calm of the afternoon. I rushed to the window, it sounded like two cats fighting. The unfriendly neighbourhood tomcat, notorious for attacking little kittens, emerged from under my car, aiming at something.
I raised an alarm. I don’t know what came over me. I guess as it was my car that he was pouncing at, I ran downstairs from my second-floor apartment. My loud shooing got the tomcat running for his life, and I knelt down to have a look at his prey.
There it was, crouched into a brown ball of unruly fur. Splattered in blood, gasping for breath. I pulled it out softly. It didn’t resist, it hardly could.
I cupped it in my palms and looked into its drooping eyes. It uttered a meek mew and clutched my hands, and gently closed its tiny eyes as if it was entrusting its life with me. And at that moment, I knew.
Placing some rug into an old fruit basket, I drove the battered little one to a vet I had googled. It was my first time at a veterinary hospital. It was amazing how the young doctor handled huge canines and little felines with equal deftness.
It was my turn, as the kitten quietly rested in the basket. The doctor examined, and jotted on a file:
‘Male kitten, Ginger Tabby, 2 months old (approx.), wounded, dehydrated.’
He prescribed some antibiotics and wound dressing every day.
“He will not take those easily, mix them with his jelly.”
A look at my bewildered face, and he knew, I was a brand-new pet mother.
Like any new mother, I shopped and walked out with the baby, a cage, a litter box, loads of kitten bites, and cat jelly.
The husband and the kid were in for a big surprise. In fact, we wondered all the while, if human parenting had been difficult for us, how would we fare as pet parents?
But Soumitro or Shomu (human kid Sriram’s younger brother) turned out to be the most accommodating baby on earth. He turned out to be a fighter. With a deep gash on his hind leg, and small wounds on his neck and paws, he happily mewed, gave me head butts, purred, rubbed, and most importantly, took all his medications on time. I could see that spark in those tiny eyes of his, the trust he placed in me when he put his little head on my lap and fell fast asleep, when he snuggled up to me at night, purring gently trying to wrap his little arms around me.
Shomu made it so simple to fall in love with him. He walked into my life during my toughest period in life, the lockdown. With erratic and never-ending work schedules, closed down at home with only the mindless television shows to keep me company, kid and spouse locked in their rooms, and a bout of Covid, I would often feel the need to cry out loud. I felt like a machine, with no emotions, no hope, just days that dawned and set, with nothing to look forward to.
And then, in walked my Shomu, placing his assuring little wet kisses on my cheeks when I slept, licking my hands and face when I wept, comforting me with his purrs when I got stressed.
For the first time in many days, I smiled. And I smiled every day when I woke up to Shomu curled beside me. His naughtiness and mischief filled my bored heart with laughter. We would chase each other till he fell asleep on my lap. I realized I had someone to look after, something to look forward to.
They say, amidst your busy schedule, it’s important you pause and breathe in and relax. Two years on, my pause is Shomu. A busy day at work and I know, Shomu waits for me to get home. I pause, I lift him, he purrs, and he cuddles, words can’t do justice to the unconditional love he bestows on me. And I on him.
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