My Cats

 Some days are very uninspiring. Today is one such. The school closed yesterday for a week of Onam holidays. Brownie's little kittens kept me entertained this morning. They are 32 days old, just the time they get restless. They move out at the very first opportunity and their mother, Brownie, goes after them to bring them back, one by one, taking them rather laboriously by the scruff of their neck. They don't stay in, however. Brownie becomes impatient and growls. I opt to help her by carrying all the four together to their bed and closing the door of the room. They rush to the door and register their protests loud enough. After that, they go to sleep. 

I wish to bring some pics of my kittens and cats. At present there are seven of them at home: 3 adults and 4 young ones. These young ones will leave us soon. One is already booked. 

Brownie's kittens

Brownie and Bobby

Bobby is also Brownie's son but from the previous litter. His favourite hobby is to prevent me from reading the newspaper in the morning. He doesn't seem to have any regard for the politicians and their activities. 

That's one of Bobby's postures while I sit reading the newspaper.

Brownie too laps up attention

Nora

Nora's story is a tragedy. She was the only kitten whom I had named before her adoption. In fact, I had no  plan to give her away. So I named her after Ibsen's classical heroine of A Doll's House. When a friend's nephew wanted her, I parted with her reluctantly. She was taken on an evening. As soon as they let her out of the box, she made a dash for the door and vanished into thin air. They searched for her with all the lights they could manage to find. Outside the house was a rubber plantation all around with thick undergrowth. Where did Nora hide? 

They found her dead body the next morning with bite-marks of some wild animal. I wept for Nora. I learnt that kittens are best given for adoption when they are just 35-45 days old. After that, they find it hard to adjust to a new environment. 

Antony and Cleopatra

Cleo, as I called her fondly, was Nora's grandmother. She and her brother Antony were abandoned in front of my gate one evening. It didn't take them much time to conquer our hearts. They were both very gentle creatures who had  no demands. They ate whatever we gave them. They were very self-effacing. It was as if they did not want to get in our way at any time. 

They are no more. Antony died fighting with a snake. We found the dead snake beside an emasculated Antony in the farm one morning. Cleo died of bleeding after her last litter. 

Cleo was the spirit of a breeze.