The Cats’ Circle

by Anupama Krishnakumar

What does it mean to enter a house as a pet kitten and break into the circle of friendship forged by four older cats living there? Anupama Krishnakumar’s story tells you more.

Ever since I have had the capability to understand what’s going on around me and gained the skill to form my own perception of myself, I have believed that I am destined to live the life of a queen. Narcissistic I sound, do I? But frankly, what’s a cat if she can’t feel self-pride and walk with her tail held high?  

Yet, from the moment I landed in this house to live with a woman, man and their eight-year-old daughter as a pet, I have never had a chance to feel like a queen (or princess, if you fancy that, because I am just a one-year-old kitten). I came here with many dreams; I would be the apple of all their eyes, for one – the only pet that they would dote on endlessly, stroking me, tickling me behind my ears and on my neck and my belly, allowing me to exult in the lavish attention heaped on me.

But destiny, I believe, had other plans for me, for when I entered this house, boom, all my dreams went up in smoke. I discovered to my utter disappointment that there were already four other felines romping about on the lush, red carpet, wagging their bushy tails in pride. I shuddered as I felt the piercing gaze of four pairs of eyes on me – the only one with caramel and white fur in the entire group.

I was devastated. I wanted to desperately escape from the tight grip of the little girl – the proud owner of five cats now – and run away. Unfortunately, all my effort to wriggle out only gave her the impression that I was feeling nervous and uncomfortable in the new environment, and therefore, she tightened her grip around my belly even more, stroking me behind my ears with her tender fingers. As much as I was irritated about everything, I couldn’t stop a gentle purr from erupting out of my throat with all that stroking, and to my horror, I saw the four cats glaring at me with contempt. I was done. For life.

‘Zoya, Fay, Bao and Ari, meet Sakhi, the latest addition to the family,’ the girl introduced me with great joy to the cats. ‘You know what Sakhi means?’ she asked, sounding excited, ‘it means a friend!’. ‘Oh really? Thank you,’ I thought to myself. What irony! I was friendless and I had to bear a name that meant a friend! I wasn’t particularly sure what my reaction had to be, so I just twitched my ears and stared at them. On their part, they didn’t show any comforting and welcoming signs of acknowledgement. All they did was to hold their tails up, stiff as a stick. ‘Great,’ I thought, ‘such accommodating pals.’

***

I have learnt to maintain a safe distance from the four of them, always tip-toeing around them yet hanging about, only to give my owners the impression that I am settling down well and blending in. Don’t ask why I am even doing all this, I frankly don’t know – it is probably an unwarranted sense of animal loyalty for which I hate myself. The fact that they always hang around together, conspicuously avoiding me, annoys me to no end.

I have figured out that Bao and Ari are brothers. They were virtually indistinguishable initially – I always got it wrong, trying to guess which one was Bao, and which Ari. But carefully watching them over time, and also thanks to my keen observational skills that I am proud of, I have understood that Bao is the louder, more daring cat, while Ari is a rather timid and moody creature, ever willing to follow in his brother’s footsteps.

Now, does it really matter what I think of them? They both care a damn about me. I sometimes feel like boring my claws down their backs when they act as if I literally do not exist, like I am some caramelized cotton ball that needs to be blown away…poof…and I would just disappear. Ok, I shall stop myself from swearing at them.

Let me tell you about the boss of them all. It’s that big, intimidating Zoya. She walks about like she is some Queen Mother, bossing around with that cynical look on her face all the time. Yet, in some corner of my heart, I have continued to admire her authoritative gait and her coat – a very interesting split of white and black, almost fifty-fifty. But she can be really mean if she wants to, like pushing you to a corner, by walking alongside you even if you are just minding your own business, or intentionally toppling your milk bowl just as you rush to it, with hunger pangs gnawing at your stomach in the mornings. ‘Watch it, dude…’ she would warn with a scowl on her face. I have also sensed a tinge of jealousy in those luminous green eyes of hers – I really think she envies me for all the cuddling I receive from the family as the youngest one of the lot; plus, really, this is just between you and me – I do think she loves my caramel coat but just doesn’t want to say it.

My favourite of the bunch is Fay…she is the most sober of them all and I like her because she is the only one who has spoken to me like a friend. ‘You have such pretty eyes and lovely, long whiskers,’ she gushed to me one day, but only after she had ensured that the others, especially Zoya and Bao, were out of earshot. But even before I could open my mouth to say thank you, she scooted from there, as if she had committed some earth-shattering crime for which she would be hauled up and kicked out.

Still, she has been a kind soul. She always watches out for me – when I am walking on the ledge, running around the pool or jumping over the little wall in the garden. She especially hangs around next to me when I walk by the kennel of Bruno – the family’s pet dog. Bruno is a fierce Alsatian, towering over all five of us, even Zoya. He barks every time he lands his brooding eyes on us. I am not exactly scared of him, nor do I adore him or hate him – but a look at him does make my insides churn – damn the laws of nature!

***

It’s a pleasant, spring afternoon, and if I am right, it’s been three months since I arrived here. We (I, a little away from the others, obviously), are running around in the garden, chasing butterflies and scaring away bees and rolling in the mud. Fay and now Ari too, turn around and give me a nod. I feel thrilled. Soon, I see Zoya and Bao abandoning the ball of wool they were playing with, and edging towards the main gate. I realise that the gate is wide open and there’s no one near it. I quickly sense the duo’s plan. They are doing something that’s forbidden: going beyond the gate into the rough, outside world. Ari follows Bao quietly (and why am I not surprised?) and Fay, although a bit hesitant, trots behind them meekly.

I stay put wherever I am and I hear Fay whisper, ‘Sakhi, come along.’

‘But, we aren’t allowed to do that, Fay,’ I tell her.

 ‘It’s ok, we’ll be fine. Zoya and Bao will take care,’ she assures me.

As much as I want to not go, the desire to seize the opportune moment to forge a possible friendship pulls me forward and I jog softly down the path and outside the gate. Fay and I see that the other three are way ahead, almost at the street corner; the to-and-fro movement of vehicles gives me the shudders but with Fay by my side, I feel assured. As Fay and I begin a conversation on how beautiful the bougainvillaea framing the compound walls look, I hear the screeching mews of Zoya, Bao and Ari, and the ferocious barks of a street mongrel.

‘Damn, a street dog is behind those three!’ I shriek, ‘Come, Fay, run! They need our help!’

We start running in the direction of the sounds and by the time we reach, I see that the dog is almost pouncing on Zoya. I forget my size for a moment and jump on him, scratching his back, while Fay grabs his tail and scrunches it between her teeth.

The dog lets out a howl, shakes us both off his body, and growling loudly, starts chasing us in the direction of our house.

‘Run, run, Fay!’ I screech, ‘let’s go get Bruno!’

I run as fast as my legs can carry me and I am filled with relief at the sight of our gate. I barge right in and I see Bruno strolling lazily. ‘Bruno, Bruno,’ I yell between short breaths.

‘Bruno, get that street dog! He is behind us!’ Fay screams and in a second, Bruno rushes to the gate and barks loudly, revealing his sharp teeth – so intimidating that it sends the street dog away, whimpering, abandoning the chase. I shrink back in fear but relax when a sudden quiet settles around us as if nothing ever really happened. Bruno walks back, being his careless self again, and Zoya, Bao and Ari follow meekly.

We get back to the garden, Fay and I, puffing and panting. Soon the other three appear. Zoya picks up the ball of wool and gently pushes it towards me. ‘You begin,’ she says, and I feel a rush of happiness and gratitude inside. I mew spiritedly and kick the ball towards Fay.

I am finally a part of their circle of friendship.

Anupama Krishnakumar is an engineer-turned-journalist. She co-edits Spark and is also the author of two books, ‘Fragments of the Whole’, a flash fiction collection and ‘Ways Around Grief & Other Stories’, a short-story collection. Her website is www.anupamakrishnakumar.com.