Not a cat person

My neighbour has a new cat . People tell me it is a male , so I have to believe them . Not being quite a cat person myself , I have found myself locked into staring competitions with the feline .

We are both wary of each other . He , of my shriek , and the hand that quickly flings a slipper in his direction . I , of lurking , unwanted feline company , that rummages ( and ruins ) dustbins , tears garbage bags , even if they do not contain edible material ; noiselessly  enters your home (their famous pussy footing ) without you being aware , and scares the bejesus out of you . 

Once , I walked into the kid's room , to find him perched onto their bed . Purring , possibly , with the intent of taking their place , in my home, heart  and hearth . 

Sorry . I told the cat so much . Not in his feline tongue , but in three distinct human speak  . He stared back , defiantly , with his hypnotising green slits , then blinked in the sunshine . He blinked twice , I swear . Once for the" f "word , and twice for the "off ". 

If something is cooking in the kitchen , he will leap onto the window ledge , with nary a sound , and stare , demandingly , into the depths of the kitchen . If you look at him , he will meow in anticipation . It is not as if he is pleading for food , he is demanding it , as if it is his birthright . No wonder the ancient Egyptians worshipped cats , and mummified hundreds of them , along with the corpses of the nobility . There was a cat  Goddess too , by the name of Bastet . 

Most of the time , when you meet him, it seems to be , uncannily , reading your mind . 

Claustrophobia  , and  fear of possible death has stopped it from entering the lift .  One wintry morning , the door to the lift opened , the cat ran towards me , took one look at the open metal box , and unthinkingly , leapt into it . The metal doors swiftly shut on him , and he wailed all the way down , all through the four floors of slow , unimaginable agony . He learnt a valuable , and luckily , an indelible lesson that day . (Or else , imagine enclosed in an airless tin box with the cat . I remember a similar torture device in existence , in Europe , during the middle ages .)

He always takes the stairs for his excursion , thereafter . Lurking at various corners , like a bundled up blanket , which unfolds itself , gives you a long languid stare ( mera kya bigaad loge tum ) and then yawns in a true cat fashion . Slow , and unbothered , revealing , in the same innocuous breath , all his sharp teeth , and the possible damage that can be inflicted by the same . This is tantamount to a road side mobster  casually showing you his gun , holstered and safe , but menacing all the same . 

If you happen to excite the cat , producing some unfortunate shooing sounds , it will stretch its limber body and scratch the door mat furiously with its claws . Occasionally , stopping to see , if you are still lingering around or have taken flight . This is equivalent to the mobster unholstering his gun , and brandishing it in the air  . 

Now , if it  leaps at you , with all her weaponry , in full functional mode , the mobster has fired . If it misses and lands behind you , it was a gunshot in the air , a dire warning . One would be dumb not to take the hint . 

My maid chucks water at him. Apparently felines abhor water . He makes a run. As if  a river of scalding lava has been directed against him . When it rains , the cat is miserable . As he is not allowed inside his master's house too . They believe in "once a stray , forever a stray " adage . He takes refuge in the driest part of the parking lot , safe under a large SUV , confident in his belief that water won't find him there . In the rare case that the rain floods the parking lot , he climbs up a window ledge , and licks his paws clean , nonchalantly.

In fact , I can now safely blame the lack of rains in this part of the country to this particular cat .He must have really prayed for a dry season . 

Sorcerers . No wonder the Egyptians worshipped them . 

My religious relatives warn me , don't throw slippers at the cat . Or what ? Or , if he dies ( by lucky perchance ) , you will have to offer a cat made of gold at a  Hindu temple , and feed a hundred brahmins . What ? Why ? I know lot of hit and run cases , in which humans have done little , even after having killed other humans . 

They say a lot of one's life and existence depends on how one markets oneself . The cat walks , tail in the air , with the complete haughtiness of a general inspecting his troops .  There is no trace of any fear or subservience in those eyes , that stare into the depths of your murky soul . I know your deepest fears , you coward !! say those green and gold eyes . 

Even my plants are not safe . There is a bushy , pretty ,palm , whose soil happened to be bit sandy . The cat used to pretend that it was its litter , put there for her . Abandoning her master's pretty and roomy  plastic bin , it had resorted to clambering up the uncomfortable confines atop a terracotta pot , underneath substantial foliage to relieve herself. This unfortunate accident , became a daily event , till my maid discovered that wet soil deters the clean freak cat . OCD stricken , it won't do anything, knowingly , to muddy its paws . 

Secondly , my neighbour's potted plants have been elevated one foot above the ground , in an attempt to keep it out of reach of inquisitive / mischievous paws . I had no such qualms , hence my lush caladium and Chinese evergreen leaves are discovered shredded every morning . An old Hindi saying goes "khammat billaya khambha noche " , meaning , a disgruntled cat is likely to vent its frustrations on a wooden pole . On another occasion , my newly transplanted ten o'clock was found sprawled and withered on the ground , uprooted from its new home, and the soft ( unwatered ) mud , sprinkled in decorative spirals around the pot , which was itself lying on its side . 

My neighbour , I forgot to add , also has bulky , ceramic pots , incapable of being overturned by cats , who have nothing better to do . 

Here , my maid pointed out that , the cat in question , being a male , might have been blinded into a fit of inexplicable, plant -directed , rage , because of an excess of testosterone . 

I have begin deluging my plants , and have bought , bigger , non -pushover pots . Now I just need to elevate them . I also intend to barricade my balcony .

My neighbour is deeply offended by my plans to wall-in  my plants and balcony , from the unwanted  feline intrusion . 

"You are not a cat person , I believe . " She says curtly. 

"No , I am not , ma'am ." 

Meditation class

 The day started off with a mild drizzle. That cooled down the air and set the ambience, so to speak. 

Today's meditation goals were achieved via a series of breathing exercises and relaxation techniques. Once the breath had slowed down and become regular, the entire demeanor of the body and mind followed. 

After the overall calming, came the relaxation technique, in which each part of the body is named and focussed upon. That brings the mind to present, leaving no room for the constant chaos of thoughts that clamour inside the skull, non stop.

For once, you are here and in your own body. For once, you have allowed waves of tranquility to wash upon yourself. For once, you can hear the universe around you, and the peace in the morning, rain drenched breeze. 

Back home

 So, i am back at my home after a long-ish hiatus . A month and a half , to be precise . There are lots of changes that have occurred in my absence . And a lot hasn't . 

The house still holds ground , thankfully . But looks old . Inside as well as outside . The plaster is peeling at places , and there is an inexplicable sewage like odour emanating from one of the rooms . The house is , as if , like an old retainer , tired of waiting for the inmates to return . You can almost hear it breathe a a sigh of relief , as a whoosh of fresh air enters the house through one end and exits , from some where near your right ear . Hah . Don't worry old chap , we are back . 

Parents stare down at you sternly , still , from their assigned places on your walls . You really are home . 

Some of your plants have grown , some withered , and some have finally given up the charade of living and are just waiting to be chucked into the dustbin . 

So much like life itself . 

The trees on the outer periphery have burgeoned into giants , and you can no longer see over their tops .

 One of the  dried up plants , has been quickly colonised by an unknown bird , whose tiny , spotted , oval eggs , three of them , rest comfortably in the nest made out of , the dead plant , still rooted in the dried up soil . One life lost and other gained . Or not . The pigeon mother , having made the mistake of laying eggs in my  pot , made a couple of rounds , found us humans milling around in a place , which until recently , was entirely her own space. Finally , decided that her kids could not be saved , and abandoned them to their doom . 

The gas cylinder still hisses faintly , with dark portends , as it is unlocked . Thankfully , there is no odour , and that hissing is dismissed , like many other noises for a figment of my overripe imagination . 

Talking of overripe , an orange , tired of sitting out on the dining table , turned green with rage first , and then the blackness of disappointment took over . That a  hard rotting ball of black fur , could have been a luscious orange at one point of time , is unbelievable . There are residual verdigris , on the brass fruit bowl , very much green . Stubborn at that , it required lot of elbow grease , and cussing power from the maid , to actually scrub out of existence . 

The bedsheets have a resentful layer of fine dust on them . Loyally preserving the creases we left on them in haste . The dripping wet  clothes , thrown upon the stand in haste , have dried like so much unfulfilled promises , to a crisp . 

The furniture is still welcoming and so is the garbage man . He has , however , lost his front two teeth , which make him look very old ,  all of a sudden . 

Then I crossed a very tired and wrinkled visage in the passageway , I stopped , and turned and saw myself in the mirror, staring back at me , almost crossly , unsmiling .