Once upon a time in the land of bipeds, there lived a four-legged beauty. Her name was Pushpa and she was a cat — a brown cat. If my mother had it her way, Pushpa would have been named Bhuri (meaning brown in Hindi). But it was the maid who discovered the brownish-white kitten lying under a heap of clothes near the dhobi’s table. And it was the maid who named her Pushpa.
It all started with my mother. She would spend a good amount of her mornings and evenings in Pushpa’s company — feeding her and playing with her. Appa would accompany Amma occasionally but he never really got attached to Pushpa. My brothers and I would occasionally feed Pushpa whenever Amma was out of town.
It was one of those days when Amma was not in town. She had telephoned to remind me to feed Pushpa. I went down, set the bowl of milk on the floor and sat on the steps nearby. Pushpa came in and instead of heading to the bowl, started walking towards me. Slowly, she climbed up and sat on my lap. At that moment, I realised what it must be like to become a mother. There we sat near the dhobi’s table, Pushpa and I, oblivious to what was happening around us — oblivious to life.
One day, just as suddenly as she entered our lives, Pushpa went away. Or rather, she was taken away. There is more than one theory behind her disappearance. While many in the apartment complex believe that the mongrels in the backyard mauled her to death, my father steadfastly refuses to buy the theory. Perhaps it’s because he steadfastly refuses to believe most popular opinions. Or perhaps because he loves those mongrels, feeds them every day, and cannot fathom that they would have killed Pushpa. Whatever be the reason, Pushpa was no more.
But even in her death, Pushpa only left us with two bundles of joy. Jack and Jill — a boy kitten and a girl kitten. Fate, however, plays cruel games. Shortly after Pushpa’s death, Jack too died. The same theories floated as arguments. However, Jack too wouldn’t come back.
That left Jill all alone. And then, Amma did one of the smartest things she has done in a long time. She brought Jill home. So one day I return from office and Amma says: “We have a surprise for you.” I head straight to the refrigerator, thinking they must have bought me some yummy chocolate brownies. But Amma points at the bottom of the centre table instead. Curious, I bend and search for the box of brownies. Instead, I find the cutest kitten huddled up, sitting on the giant dictionary my father uses while solving the crossword in the newspaper.
And that’s how Jill entered our lives.
Did I say Jill? That’s not her only name. We somehow can’t seem to agree on a name for the little kitten. While my father calls her Rani, my mother calls her Baby. Shanky shifts between Suppandi and Drrrr and Prashu calls her Buffalo. I call her all of the above names. The best part is that she responds to all of them.
