Goodbye, Little Ones

They were born under my care, tiny throbs of life, eyes still shut to the world. They grew up under my constant care. I changed their bed and the sheets regularly making sure they were always warm and comfortable. When one of them didn’t open her eyes after a fortnight of her birth, I rang up my cousin who is a vet and got the appropriate prescription that gave her the light of day in just two days. I watched each one of them stumble through their first steps.

Today they were adopted. I personally took them to their new home, a tiny house of a family that belongs to the class that India calls BPL [Below Poverty Line]. I didn’t know them at all until I stopped my car a little away from their small house, at the nearest spot my car could possibly reach. They lived in another village altogether, some 15 km from mine. Sometimes 15 km can make a world of difference.

A man who looked as old as me had come to my house in the late afternoon. “I’d like to adopt your kittens,” he said. He had seen the photograph of the kittens that I had kept at the wayside shop near my house.

“I have three grandchildren,” he went on when I asked why he wanted all the three. “Let each have one.” Children are the best lovers of kittens and I could foresee the sparkle in the eyes of this man’s grandchildren as they claimed each of my kittens for themselves.

“How will you take them, scooter or bike?” I asked so that I could package them accordingly.

“By bus,” he said.

Maggie gasped. “So far by bus?”

That’s when I decided to take them by my own car.

I could see Maggie’s eyes tearing up as we placed the kittens in a soft carry-bag. I controlled my emotions. It was only a couple of hours ago that they had all jumped into my lap when the sky darkened unexpectedly and a cloudburst descended on us. Below is the video of their cosying in my lap. Just a few hours back. 

They went without any protest, however. So gentle, serene, docile. Had I spoilt them with my affection as Maggie always blames me? I don’t know. But I’m sure they’re in safe hands now, the hands of children who are 8, 10, and 12 years old each. They were waiting eagerly for their grandpa. For the kittens.

Maggie and I had come to think that no one was going to come to adopt the kittens anymore. So we had named them too. But those names will now be forgotten. Let them be. That’s how life is. Even Kingini, the mother-cat, seems to have resigned herself to that truth.

When I returned from beyond Kalloorkad, the place where the three little kids’ house is, Kingini raised a cry of protest. I took her in my arms and said, “I’m there with you as ever.” She seems to have understood. She looked into my eyes. Tenderly.  

Kingini