Never been a cat lover, mainly because I never owned one. From where I come from, dogs are the dream pets whereas cats are mostly unwelcome strays who sneak in to your house and steal your fish. At least, I have personally encountered very few households in India who include cats in their families as they do dogs. Well, then I came to Europe and I see these graceful, fat, furry Persians everywhere in Holland, not sure if I ever wanted one of my own. They are cats after all, not wonderfully trained, entertaining canines who you can dress up and play with and take for walks and show off.
And then I came to stay the summer in Poland with my partner, and met their pet, Pusha. She was a beautiful little thing, with soft cream coloured fur, and the brightest golden eyes. What also struck me was how pretty her face was, it was a proper girly face with big eyes, a small nose and defined cheekbones. Unlike some cats I had seen with ugly big noses which made them look long faced and funny. The first time she saw me all I got was a cold, unwelcome look. She wouldn’t even let me come close to petting her, and even if I so much as attempted to touch her she would strike out with her claws. I decided I’m going to hate her for her temperament, in spite of being a passionate animal lover.
However, spending the first three months around her seemed to change everything. I noticed how intrinsically different cats are from dogs. They are cold, indifferent and hate being petted. They are proud and egoistic and would never do anything to make you feel like they care. They will never follow you around, nor play with you. If you do or say something funny they will just give you this weird amused look before walking off. Makes you wonder if you’re the object of entertainment instead. They do not overeat, nor do they eat anything which is slightly different from what they really prefer. Pusha, being a cat, had never liked or drank milk in her life, in spite of mum’s efforts to warm up fresh milk every now and then and lay it down in a beautiful saucer. She doesn’t like usual home food either, only an expensive brand of catfood in three different varieties. One for the main course (which is salmon, chicken, beef or pork in a delicious sauce), a crunchy snack, and another special one for extra energy. Topped with the occasional snacks of different varieties of cheese, butter, ham and sausages, which have to be served neatly on her own special plate. She likes to go to the garage to hunt, and does a damn good job of clawing tiny baby mice while I yell and shed a few tears at the sight. Not that she wants to eat them or anything, all she likes to do is kill them and then bring them near the house to show us how cool a hunter she is. I grew to realise that cats recognise no authority, although completely dependent on a family for their material needs. They hate being picked up or hugged or kissed, which is one thing Pusha might hate me for! They have this perpetual look of boredom, like we are not doing enough to entertain them through the day.
But I also understand now why cats are slowly replacing dogs as modern favourite pets across European and American households. They are cleaner, slimmer, health conscious and easy to toilet-train. They are usually wise and careful, never clumsy enough to miscalculate distance while jumping, or run so far as to lose their way. Pusha, with all her attitude and pride, so completely loves her home that she would never venture far or feel the need to go gallivanting beyond the garden. She sometimes jumps on our laps for a quick snooze, not because she feels affection, but because the lap is warm and cosy. However only family members get that privilege, never guests or outsiders. All they get is that cold disgruntled look, remember?
And then, this year while I’m visiting for the summer (now officially married and all), I was fortunate enough to be around while Pusha gave birth. The daddy seems to be some black and white cat who used to come and visit her on and off. There was another really nice cat who used to like her and visit, but she treated him so bad that he got the message at last and stopped coming. So anyway, in spite of the useless vet next door having given her contraceptives, she did manage to get knocked up and gave birth to six lovely little kittens inside the house, in her very own room, on 3 Aug, 2010. I almost cried at the sight of them, the tiny bundles of cuteness! (Well, please note that I have never ever been around newborn kids, or even kids for that matter. In fact I always preferred pets to human kids, the latter having enough qualities to put me off for life). However, one of the kittens did not make it past the third night, and the only explanation for that is that there is always a weaker one in the litter. I cried for a couple of days, but then my attention slowly turned to the ones who were around, struggling to be the fittest, struggling to survive.
Sad but true, it is impossible for our family here to keep six cats in the house. I kept arguing its big enough, with the most massive garden ever. But I understood that here they believe in treating pets like their own children, just like I would. Pusha is beautifully groomed and fed and kept inside the house, she sleeps in our bedrooms under the covers if she prefers, and substantial money is spent on her food. It will definitely be a bit difficult to give that same quality of living to six of them. The kittens are already six weeks old, which is a good time to put them up for adoption.
Yesterday we gave away our two darling girls to a lady who was interviewed for more than two hours on her awareness of how to maintain and bring up kittens. One will probably stay on in the house with Pusha, since she seems quite depressed and has been looking around for them, which in turn is breaking our hearts and making mum and me break into occasional tears. I’m hoping right now that my favourite baby among the lot stays on here. I cannot be the final decision maker as we do not even stay here permanently, and cannot even consider the option of carrying a kitten all the way to London to a small apartment. But every time I hold his ginger and white little being in my arms and he looks at me with those big green eyes I just melt. He is the strongest of the lot, with the most vibrant fearless personality I ever expected such a tiny little thing to have. He is the only one who never whines no matter how much you cuddle him, he was the first to eat proper food and explore the whole house, first to climb the stairs to the second floor straight into my bedroom, and first to chase the eight huge fat hens in the garden who are atleast five times his size and terrified of him!
Yeah, I wish he would stay on here, so I can come and play with him every time I visit. If I ever decide to have a kid, I want it to be like this little bundle of energy and fearlessness and warmth and beauty, who, by the way, still fits into the palm of my hand!
