Two Cats...

.....Spotty on the prowl when it was warmer and he was feeling better....

Many years ago when I was living in Calcutta at my parents' apartment I was running up the stairs when I spotted an abandoned cat and my breath went out. It was a kitten. Curled up and sleeping on the window-sill with the pale light from the sun streaming onto it. It was twitching its nostrils every once in a while and if anyone has seen a kitten sleeping they'll know what I mean when I say that this kitten was really curled up with its head tucked under a paw. It was this spotted little ball. Black and white. More white than black. I brought my fingers close to it. It didn't budge. I stroked it. And it grunted (not purred) a soft grunt. I went up the four steps, rushed inside the house. Went to the fridge, got some milk, warmed it a bit, got some bread and dunked it into the milk - put it all in a bowl and ran out again. The kitten was still there. And at some point he (I don't know whether it was a he - I think it was a he) woke up, blinked and looked a little dazed. It let out a yawn that made its head disappear. I placed the milk bowl in front of his face and put my finger into it, brought it near his mouth, and he licked my finger. He was a bright kitten for he soon lapped up his meal and looked at me with a mighty satisfied expression on his face. I couldn't take him home although I would have if I'd had a place of my own. Later on in the day or maybe the next, he came miawowing piteously over to the door. I petted him and he brushed along my leg. I gave him a bowl of milk and bread and he lapped it up. But that was the last bowl I ever did give him. I never saw him again.

The year before last - there was an abandoned cat. For the better part of the year the cat had been abandoned by a girl whom if I see again I will not waste my time exchanging pleasantries. The cat was black and white. More white than black and for most of the time he wandered around the terrace trimmings (as only cats can) and perched itself near the edge of the terrace, looking up and down and miaowwing. It would try getting into the apartment that had been his home before he was kicked out by the girl who had decided to move houses and leave him behind. For a good couple of months I didn't realise what was going on till Kim, our neighbour, pointed out that the Black-and white tabby had indeed been abandoned. We started keeping some food and water outisde and the white and black tabby was not unhappy with the food but was always more delighted with some attention. It was summer, I think, at that point. So he would lap up some milk too but the thing he loved best was being cuddled. He would settle on your lap and sit and try and sniff your face and roll over and sometimes he would just sit in companionable silence and we (Kim Guha, and I) wondered about and barked at the absent girl who could have abandoned the cat. I named him "Spotty" (I'm not very good with names and the uninspired name fairly stuck to the cat). Sometimes I'd watch him and he'd go prancing across the road (although he never quite really pranced - he seemed to be a rather dignified cat...but I guess dignified cats too have their moments); sometimes he'd very silently approach squirrels, and believe it or not he never did pounce on a squirrel but simply chased them up a tree. And sometimes he was cranky....loving but quite cranky and while he did give Guha a hefty nip one day - I got a hiss and a sharp bite on one occasion...but there was a reason. When one has a growing tumour, which eventually grows to the size of a golf ball by the time it's discovered, I don't think one is feeling particularly good inside and most likely does not want to be petted on its head...

He wasn't well and that came to light in Fall and especially through winter. He was fairly wasting away and was looking scraggly and wasn't always able to groom himself but we didn't know what was wrong with him back then. He would always come and sit on your lap and get petted and comforted and comforting the one who'd be comforting him, and by then there was no hissing nor biting although sometimes I swear he had a rather sad look in his eyes...(there's much I could write about that magnificent cat but only some of it can I write about here). He wouldn't come out of his make-shift house for the food. He would sit there looking at it. Yet if Guha or I went out, he'd leap out of his little house and settle on our laps. There were some days though that I felt like I couldn't go out and sit with him....I don't know how to put this in. It felt like a bloody wrench leaving him and coming back inside. And Spotty would so firmly be sitting there and sometimes he'd fall asleep on your lap...all curled up.

This and that transpired. He was treated by our very kind vet. One of my professor's gave him a home since Guha and I could not take him in (Oh, and I was mad about that but there's no point in being mad about some things....As Guha reasonably pointed out with two little/big cats of our own we couldn't bring in a cat with mood swings...). But just before Christmas Day, I knew. I was visiting Spotty (Spotster) at the vet regularly where he was kept for observation and when all the tests came back negative and my vet told me that I could take him with me...I was there looking and talking with Spotty, and I knew.

He did have a home for a week or so (the exact dates, I have now forgotten). My professor named him "Soccer-Ball" (much more appropriate...although he was all skin and bones mostly...). He slept in the warmth and found some lap to settle on or found someone in the house to cuddle up to. My professor had grown very fond of him too. And yet I knew. And sure enough three days after I went over to meet him one Friday, my professor sent an e-mail. Guha and I went over. We took Spotty over to the vet one last time. And our vet ran some final tests and for most of the time the brave cat sat on my lap somewhat disconsolate but unprotesting looking incredibly fragile - and with the smell of death hanging around him even as I held him close....and when the results came in we didn't flinch when our vet said that it would be better if Spotty were euthanized for he had bone cancer. Our vet did it of course. Told us exactly what would happen and Justin - one of the assistants who was there as well - comforted the little cat as well. I kept patting Spotty on the head and stroking him. Spotty put up a fight though. He didn't go down without letting out one nice loud miaow. I stroked him on the head, called out to God, and by then he was gone.

Guha wrapped him up after some minutes in one of my old grey sweatshirts, which I'd had for a long time...and he was cremated along with that old grey sweatshirt.

And so there went another black and white tabby. There are lots of memories I have of Spotty - but these will do for the nonce. I'm glad though...that I was there when I put him down. That's one thing I am glad about.