a terrible painter, a dreamer, a rebel , a feminist and a self certified bisexual Witch. Who is always trying to visualize whats on the other side of the canvas she paints,just another human- Living alive Life. Now also a green tea addict.

Tuesday, 31 January 2017

a cat, a kitten and a dead kitten.

New year resolutions have become the words of old, I would break them happily to realize how fickle I am. Eventually gave up on this rigid practice and since then I am happy. I do not need an extra added pressure on my shoulder, hence a new year resolution has been out of the question. Yet within a month life can teach you many lessons, without a resolution.

Though I never intended on learning any new lesson, life has given me a good share of experiences from skimming through literary festivals, meeting my favourite authors, reading books, hanging out with friends, watching movies and a lot more. In a month, I have felt happy, alive, frustrated, angry and sad. Though my happiness is my top priority that doesn’t guarantee an absolute continous supply of happy moments. Life is as you receive it, sometimes you simply receive a punch in the guts.

In my grade eighth, I was attached to my biology teacher, she was one of the kindest humans who would help us when we were enraged by puberty. She was strict yet very affectionate with us and caring, but when I was promoted to ninth grade, Ma’am had decided to move to another place. My friends and I, we were bonkers, before leaving she sent us all text message saying, detachment was the best thing in life, once we lose it we make many friends, similarly attachment was also a curse when you lose it you are dulled for a while. She asked us to be happy and keep studying.

Now I don’t know where my happy go lucky teacher is, some say Canada another said Prague. I never tried looking for her on Social Media, wherever she is teaching right now I damn sure students are loving her classes. The art of detachment is hard, halfhearted kindness is criminal. A cat died because of me, my halfhearted kindness killed it. I have buried dead cats and dogs for all my life, I have looked after kittens and puppies, I am such an expert that I can predict when their eyes will sprout. 

But a cat died because of me. The stray cat my housemate and I named Petush, had bought her two kittens to our room after months of inspection. Out of concern, I built them a bed of cardboard box and old clothes. Since Petush is a stray, she had to constantly keep going in and out of the house, so next day before I left for college I put three of them in the box, and created fortification of bedside stool with huge books on top and left my window partially open for Petush to move as she pleases despite my housemate warning me of male cats attacking male kittens.

All my life I have raised kittens male and female, none had died because of the above-mentioned atrocity. Late in the evening as I entered, to a silent dark room, I had a feeling something had happened. As I switched on the lights the books that were keeping the stool in place were scattered, the stool fallen far away from the box, and Petush mewing slowly. I rushed to find one white kitten asleep. I turned around to see blood splattered on the floor and a headless body of the newborn male kitten. 

After that I cried, I yelled, I cursed, I called my mom and friends, with those weeping hands of mine, I wrapped the body in the newspaper, put in plastic bag, flushed its tiny paw, cleaned the blood stains and waited for next day’s garbage collector’s arrival since evening. Everybody had warned me about adopting kittens. Have I ever paid a heed? Never.

Since that night Petush and her sole kitten were under more protection, in turns we fed her, I woke up in middle of the night fearing a killer cat’s presence. I looked at other strays with skeptic's eyes, pinning the title of murder on any male cat that passed my path and finally decided on the mongoose that ran around my house. Meanwhile, the kitten that survived was blooming every day, pure white with a black Christmas tree for a tail. Her brother had a similar tail.

I looked after her, when she got ill I fed her warm milk, for her I missed my favourite Graphic Novelist's seminar. I was desperate to keep this one alive.

As I hoped and prayed for her fast growth, a sudden plan of changing the house happened. Due to an unavoidable situation, we were rushed to packing. With that, a new tension emerged about the future of Petush and her kitten Ferrari. Two Instagram ads for adoption and hundred messages to friends later, we realized no one was adopting our sweet Ferrari. Separating her from Petush would kill her as she was too tiny and bringing both with us was not possible. 

With a heavy heart, we packed, while the Petush who loves roaming outside the house forgetting about the kitten, refused to leave her baby in the box and kept on wailing. Our hearts broke, our souls broke and my own incompetence came up. Another realization hit me, which my dear friend has totally agreed on. This was a thought that I first had after reading Mo Yan stories - We have no right to take the Responsibility of lives we are going to abandon. 

As I went back to the lane of cats this evening, I named my previous address such out of whim, I saw every other cat that I fed at least once the high cheek boned golden tabby, the fat, soft black and white hunk, the cotton candy tailed kitten, and there was my Petush walking few meters ahead of me. I handed the due electricity bill to my ex-landlord and looked for Ferrari hoping to find her walking beside her mother now, but Petush was walking alone towards another house with no Ferrari beside her, Petsush was healthy and walking towards the house who feed her. I wanted to call her and cuddle her, but I had no right. The name Petush remains crystallised in my throat and Ferrari hopefully alive on the streets. As the month ends my year begins with a harsh lesson. 

P.S- She looked healthy...Yet I still wonder if the male kitten had survived, how handsome could he be..

thanking you to bear with me