The hazards of keeping a pet are many especially in a house where Dad lives. Dad happens to dislike pets of all kinds. He thinks there are better things to do than pamper an animal. He doesn’t think much of the love we receive in return from them. And he especially doesn’t care for the felines. Maybe dogs yes, because they can bark and scare away the timider variety of thieves. Admittedly, this theory has not been tested, but the cat one is a tried and tested one. The only kitten he tolerated was a waif we picked up on a wet day, half blinded by the red-eye disease that had spread as an epidemic some years ago. Mini, as we called her, survived objections by neighbours who did not like to see an ‘inauspicious’ cat the first thing in the morning, the raid of a municipal stray animal extermination squad and a gang of youth which relished cat meat! Over time Mini became friendly with a neighbourhood tom and the good news of her litter came on the phone at my office as my two daughters gave me a minute by minute description of the birth. They insisted I had become a grandmother!
Loud protests by Dad as he tripped over a kitten, as he sat inadvertently on a chair occupied by another kitten only to jerk away in shock, and similar daily misadventures followed by the girls’ giggles, angry yells from Dad and threats of ‘dumping’ them, blaming me for spoiling the children by giving in to all their whims and similar tantrums, did not affect either Mini, or her brood of three nor the two girls. But, the breaking point came when the kittens chose Dad’s towels for their morning ablutions and in true professorial style ((he’s university professor) he used the towel to wipe his face. Hell broke loose and for the next few days there was no respite from his angry objections to having the cat family in the house. My daughters have not forgiven me till today, three years later, for abetting Dad in giving away Mini and her kittens to a local animal shelter. Excuses like the need for peace in the house, the over-crowdedness of the flat, the final exams looming on the horizon and the three over-active kittens being a distraction and so on fell flat. For several months mention of Mini or sighting of a feline or any printed picture of a cat brought angry tears to their eyes and accusations of being a phoney animal lover and not possessing a spine were flung at me anew.
A year or so later we moved into a bigger house and the girls got rooms of their own. With final exams out of their way this summer, teenager Dipa went to look up her friends in the earlier colony. And came back with the decision that she would get two kittens. I don’t care what Dad will say, she said defiantly. The litter was in the care of Mrs Bose, who facilitated a colony of cats in the neighbourhood amidst unremitting hostility all around. She offered Dipa two of the four of the new litter. I put my foot down. Only one kitten, I insisted. And like a true bargain-hunter, Dipa had her way…asking for two, hoping she’d at least get one!
Accompanied by pre-teen Amulya on her two wheeler, Dipa went on the mission. And returned triumphant. Dad was at home as was evident from his scooter parked in the portico. Thus began the daily battle of wits to keep Dad and Cassy (Cassiopeia, a Ethiopian legendary heroine…Dipa had to be racially correct by opting for a black heroine’s name) out of each other’s way. As Dad was in the front of the house, the two girls went to the back door and gave the box in which Cassy was ensconced to Sulochana who cooks for us. Sulochana carried it furtively inside. Dipa and Amulya walked in from the front nonchalantly, greeted Dad and ran upstairs to Dipa’s room where Cassy in the box had been deposited. From then on Amulya, who was stuck to TV after her school closed down for summer vacation is not to be seen downstairs, much to Dad’s relief. Both girls are closeted in Dipa’s room and he is heartened by their unusual closeness, but loses patience as Dipa’s door is constantly closed and he has to call several times to get their attention or summon them downstairs.
The other day Cassy got lost. She is generally hidden in the bathroom while the bedroom is being cleaned, but one day both the doors were left open and Cassy disappeared. Dad was home and everybody was nervous. The two girls hunted desperately. Dad became aware of the tension and asked what they were searching for. ‘My earring,’ Dipa said brazenly. ‘Why can’t you be more careful?’ he responded with a touch of exasperation. ‘Yes Dad, I will be,’ said Dipa with unusual meekness. I left with Dad for work and after sometime called up home to check. For the next half hour the phone was busy and I felt assured that the crisis had blown over. I learnt later that Cassy had hidden herself in a small aperture behind the wash basin and was tempted out with a bowl of milk! When Dad is around, milk and curd rice is smuggled upstairs by Amulya. When Dad is not around Dipa brings Cassy downstairs much to the dismay of Grandmother who is worried that Dad might appear suddenly and a verbal conflagration might happen!
Should Dad be around and Cassy decides to get demanding and and meows for attention, Amulya starts singing loudly to drown the meowing. Dad indulgently comments that she is becoming a good singer! The inevitable happened the other day. Dad picked me up from work rather early as it was a lean day workwise. As I entered the house there was a flurry of activity and the two girls were flinging angry words at each other. Amulya was nearly in tears. She had brought Cassy downstairs and she had disappeared. And Dad had arrived earlier than usual before she could smuggle Cassy back into her room. “Cassy! Cassy! Meow, Meow! Puss, puss,” whispered Amulya into all corners, under the bed and especially behind wash basins, scared that Dad would hear her. Fortunately, Dad was busy in the garden as he was worried about the heat-afflicted plants which were thirsting for water. Suddenly Cassy ran out playfully from her hiding place. Amulya grabbed her and gave her a gentle whack on her head in anger. Then immediately she kissed her in remorse and promptly locked Cassy up in the bathroom.
Yesterday at the local market Dad and I ran into Mrs Bose. My heart sank as I knew “cat conversation” was inevitable. I said the kitty was fine, thanks and quickly changed the subject, asking about her smoking and children. Dad was busy examining vegetables with total concentration and as usual did not pay attention to what was going around him. God bless him!
PS: The girls were scandalized that I was going to write about Cassy for my newspaper’s Sunday magazine. “You want to tell him through print?” asked Dipa, the smart one. “No, he will not read the supplement,” said Amulya, the realist. “Of course, he will read it…he reads all Mummy’s write ups,” responded the all-knowing Dipa, not quite correctly though this time. “You can hide it,” said Amulya who has a solution for all tricky situations. Risk-taking is the spice of life with Dad. So here goes...
(Published in Deccan Herald, Bangalore, India)
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