<p>She was lame in one foot, scarred and hungry when we first made her acquaintance. I thought it would be nice and cosy to have a cat in the garden and encouraged my kids to feed her milk regularly. She mewed at us angrily but kept running away after lapping the milk a few times. <br /><br />Soon we realised she had a small black kitten on a ledge. She purred lovingly with a gargling sound when she checked on him -with maniacal frequency. The bond sealed further when the kitten lapped a few drops of milk off my daughter’s palm with his feathery tongue. <br /><br />Soon Minna’s limp healed and she trotted about with happiness making figure eights between our feet and arching her back in happiness. Her son Mimi entertained us with some feline version of martial arts as he wielded a twig attacking imaginary enemies. <br /><br />Strangely Minna began snarling at him when ran to her for milk and smacked him hard with her paw. Bewildered, he too soon began lapping up the milk from the bowl to fill his little stomach and stayed clear of his angry mother. <br /><br />He played with shoe laces and was curious about everything.When his feet were wet he would daintily shake the drops off and climb on our feet purring happily. He climbed up the window like a trapeze artiste and jumped down startled when he could go no further. But he settled under the car at night alone and scared. <br /><br />Slowly Minna softened towards him and the bread soaked in milk disappeared into their small bellies. ‘Our cats’, as we now referred to them were here to stay. I returned from my morning walk to find inside our compound a dead crow in all its disembowelled glory. With a handkerchief tied around my face-bandit style I gingerly shoved the poor bird into a bag and dumped it out of sight in the empty plot next door where the rats could complete the last rites. I waited angrily for the culprit, Minna. Mimi sat under my car amidst pigeon feathers, a picture of innocence.<br /><br />Visions of more dead pigeons and maybe even rats strengthened my resolve to end our five month bond with the stray cat and kitten who clearly seemed fed up with their milk and bread diet. I splashed some water on the two startled faces and shooed them away convinced that all good things must come to an end. I had to endure the wrath of my heartbroken kids. I secretly missed the mother and son duo but openly rejoiced that there would be no more anatomy workshops in the garden. <br /><br />Minna swallowed her pride and came back a month later with three kittens in tow. But startled by the attention she and her kids received on Ganesh Chaturthi, when we had many visitors for the puja, she left in a huff, kittens in tow. She resumed her milk diet a few days later, rather subdued.<br /><br />Speaking of the dead crow to our cousin Loki, an animal lover, brought me a load of guilt. He explained that it was love which made Minna want to share her ‘tasty’ crow with us. She had considered us family and was feeding us in return for our friendship. She must have been really hurt by my refusal of the crow, for she gently tapered off her visits. For a few days the milk and bread in the bowl fed some lazy flies. Now an overturned bowl awaits the forgiveness of a feline friend and with two pairs of accusing eyes at home, I am not allowed to forget.</p>
<p>She was lame in one foot, scarred and hungry when we first made her acquaintance. I thought it would be nice and cosy to have a cat in the garden and encouraged my kids to feed her milk regularly. She mewed at us angrily but kept running away after lapping the milk a few times. <br /><br />Soon we realised she had a small black kitten on a ledge. She purred lovingly with a gargling sound when she checked on him -with maniacal frequency. The bond sealed further when the kitten lapped a few drops of milk off my daughter’s palm with his feathery tongue. <br /><br />Soon Minna’s limp healed and she trotted about with happiness making figure eights between our feet and arching her back in happiness. Her son Mimi entertained us with some feline version of martial arts as he wielded a twig attacking imaginary enemies. <br /><br />Strangely Minna began snarling at him when ran to her for milk and smacked him hard with her paw. Bewildered, he too soon began lapping up the milk from the bowl to fill his little stomach and stayed clear of his angry mother. <br /><br />He played with shoe laces and was curious about everything.When his feet were wet he would daintily shake the drops off and climb on our feet purring happily. He climbed up the window like a trapeze artiste and jumped down startled when he could go no further. But he settled under the car at night alone and scared. <br /><br />Slowly Minna softened towards him and the bread soaked in milk disappeared into their small bellies. ‘Our cats’, as we now referred to them were here to stay. I returned from my morning walk to find inside our compound a dead crow in all its disembowelled glory. With a handkerchief tied around my face-bandit style I gingerly shoved the poor bird into a bag and dumped it out of sight in the empty plot next door where the rats could complete the last rites. I waited angrily for the culprit, Minna. Mimi sat under my car amidst pigeon feathers, a picture of innocence.<br /><br />Visions of more dead pigeons and maybe even rats strengthened my resolve to end our five month bond with the stray cat and kitten who clearly seemed fed up with their milk and bread diet. I splashed some water on the two startled faces and shooed them away convinced that all good things must come to an end. I had to endure the wrath of my heartbroken kids. I secretly missed the mother and son duo but openly rejoiced that there would be no more anatomy workshops in the garden. <br /><br />Minna swallowed her pride and came back a month later with three kittens in tow. But startled by the attention she and her kids received on Ganesh Chaturthi, when we had many visitors for the puja, she left in a huff, kittens in tow. She resumed her milk diet a few days later, rather subdued.<br /><br />Speaking of the dead crow to our cousin Loki, an animal lover, brought me a load of guilt. He explained that it was love which made Minna want to share her ‘tasty’ crow with us. She had considered us family and was feeding us in return for our friendship. She must have been really hurt by my refusal of the crow, for she gently tapered off her visits. For a few days the milk and bread in the bowl fed some lazy flies. Now an overturned bowl awaits the forgiveness of a feline friend and with two pairs of accusing eyes at home, I am not allowed to forget.</p>
