Brian and his mum are dog people. I mean, that’s how they describe themselves when the subject of pets comes up. Over the years — counting from when they lived in Bangalore to the present day, in Sydney — they’ve had a succession of dogs, each with a catalogue of anecdotes pinned to its life. Nothing novel, just the usual dog stories — from slyly using a footstool to stealthily leaping up on the dining table and devouring the uncovered afternoon meal of mutton vindaloo, to benignly running around the huge backyard, playing the part of a tolerant Shetland pony while a child of three rode its back.
For several reasons — too numerous to enumerate — they’ve never had a cat. Until now. And the two of them swore in the beginning that they never for one moment wanted it; that it happened the other way around. Brian also says that it caught them at psychologically the right moment, when their guard was down after the loss of their Alsatian, Rex — the one that took on the role of Shetland pony and died eventually of old age, by which time the child who’d ridden its back was himself a 13-year-old.
The cat in question used to be a wild, scrawny stray — but a rather pretty stray. It sports the longest whiskers and the greenest eyes I’ve seen and in typical cat-like fashion, it has a way of looking right through you, or, unlike a dog that loves attention, turning aside and ignoring you when being addressed.
It arrived at the back door one morning, about a year ago, miaowing continuously. Given that there’s only so much miaowing one can take before reacting, Brian rose from the comfort of his sitting room chair to shoo the creature away. On reaching the back door, however, he discovered that there wasn’t one cat on the back step, but two: The second being a mere kitten, a few days old. The moment the mother cat saw Brian she picked up her baby with her teeth and walked down the steps, towards the space under the building. Mother and baby disappeared, but not for long. Ten minutes later, Brian, back in his chair grumbling about the invasive cat, espied it walking across the front lawn with yet another kitten in its mouth.
Placed under immediate observation, it was noticed that the cat was ferrying her litter from across the street to a safer place — away from the neighbours’ two dogs that set up a constant barking to remind all passers-by, cats especially, of their presence.
The sight of a half-starved mother cat working industriously to protect her young has the ability to melt the heart of the staunchest dog-pet lover. Brian and his mum found old saucers, filled those with milk and put them on the back step. A few unplanned trips to the local supermarket were made, too, to procure tins of cat food.
In time the mother cat’s physique filled out and her four kittens grew. The kittens, each with unique colours on their coats, found a home with no trouble at all. In time also, the mother cat, now single again, found the back door open and wandered in. She was granted sleeping quarters in the laundry room, just off the kitchen, mainly to curtail her nocturnal amorous adventures. She apparently showed her gratitude by pouncing upon two unsuspecting field mice and laying them out for inspection the next day.
Today, she rules the roost, chooses which chair she’ll sit on and gives you a haughty look when ordered to vacate the space. Today, Brian and his mum admit: “It’s true, she adopted us, but we have finally become cat people. Cats are gentler and so much cleaner, you know.” I don’t know, I saw a cat once, consumed by greed it seemed, stealing a fish larger than it could carry. I’ve had a hang-up since then. So with me and cats ... the jury’s still out, deliberating.
Kevin Martin is a journalist based in Sydney, Australia.