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 ."