Dear Kitty,

No, I didn’t forget that Thursday was your monthly anniversary. Your little sister, Maya, is down with a bad cough and cold. So, she was cranky and not her usual cheerful self. I didn’t sleep very well Wednesday night and so was nursing a headache for most of Thursday. At the end of the day when I went to put Maya to sleep, tired, I fell asleep too. I’m drained and numb, but unable to sleep most days when I take care of her all day. Writing an entry on your monthly anniversary requires more time than I always assume. And a clear mind. I don’t much enjoy putting up perfunctory entries. Even this entry feels a little rushed.

We returned from India last week. We visited our old house there, the place where you spent almost two years. I looked up to see the porch – our house was one level up – where you’d lie, sunning yourself or trying to catch a glimpse of the world outside. One day, you jumped off the porch onto the ledge that ran along the front of the house. And you couldn’t jump back up. You sat there meowing your frustration. I climbed down to the ledge, picked you up and hoisted you back onto the porch. I had to ensure I shut the porch door before I hoisted you back or you’d rush down the stairs to the garden below and from there, crossover to the neighbor’s at a point where the walls were not high. Another night, you had leapt down to the ledge. I asked my father to shut the door as I climbed down to the ledge. He didn’t know how quick you could be. He was still trying to shut the door when I placed you back on the porch. In one instant, you saw the door open and vanished, running down the stairs and away into the darkness. Scared that you might go exploring the neighborhood and get killed by some stray dog or traffic, I ran after you with a flashlight. Luckily, you had just run into a corner of the garden. Do you remember ?

As you aged, you lost your ability to leap high. When you first came to be with us, you’d leap as high as five feet straight up from a standing position. I never failed to be amazed when you leapt high to catch the feather that I’d use to play with you. Even when we moved into our current house, you jumped to the top of the fence, a clear seven feet or so. When you got older, you cleared the fence in two bounds, one to a rock and from there onto the fence. You learnt that waiting by the front door got you back in. When we returned from India, you stopped clearing fences. You climbed the stairs a little slowly sometimes. The doctor said that it might be a touch of arthritis. Do you remember ?

You also enjoyed sitting in that tree in the garden. I’d let you go down upto the tree and then hoist you up. You tried climbing it a few times but didn’t succeed. You got down fine though. Sometimes, I felt you’d wince as you leapt down. I don’t know if the arthritis bothered you then. You also spent countless hours sleeping on Shanthala’s lap while we lived in Bangalore. She had to merely sit down and you would leap into her lap. Do you remember ?

As I gazed at the porch of our old house in India, I also remembered when the landlord’s dogs attacked you as you sunned in the porch. Most days I put you on the porch, shut the door and go back into the house. You meowed when you wanted to come back in. The porch door opened inwards and so you couldn’t pull open the door, but someone from outside could easily push open the door. That day, I was awakened from my reverie of work by a commotion of dogs barking. I ran out of our house and into the porch in an instant, my heart beating. I knew instinctively that you were in trouble. There you were, teetering around the edge of the parapet, hissing and swatting at the beagles as they barked and tried to approach you. They stood between you and the door. You were trying to manouver yourself so that you could get them away from the door. I started shouting and trying to grab both the dogs. One of the helper maids heard my shout and came up to help me grab the dogs. I had left the door to the house open and you ran inside. Leaving the dogs to the maid, I followed you. You were panting and waiting by the bed. I picked you up and you wrapped your paws around my neck. Your heart was beating fast as was mine. The dogs were not vicious or one of us might have been hurt. We held each other for a long time. Do you remember ?

The weather here has become milder these past few days. It feels like spring is in the air. On the tree outside our house, I spy three nests, built by what seem like finches. The air is filled with birdcall, especially during the morning, when the sun is out and it is pleasant. I remember how you’d sit out and watch the birds fret about on the trees. When we lived in Mountain View, sometimes there’d be birds on the wire that ran along the garden fence. When you went out, they’d start crying loudly, anxiously. You’d meow a reassurance, crouching down, as if to say, “I’m harmless, even though I’m a cat”. But they’d continue to call and you’d come running back into the house, meowing in protest. Do you remember ?

When we lived in Santa Clara, the porch opened onto a small artificial body of water inhabited by ducks and two swans. The ducks would sometimes gather on our porch. One day, you decided to scare them away. We were eating dinner when we heard a loud thud followed by a whimper. I ran to the bay doors that opened onto the porch. The glass on the door looked invisible and you had run smack into it. You didn’t act like you were hurt much. But you managed to scare the ducks away. You had learnt your lesson. The next time we saw you try the same trick, you charged down the hall and screeched to a halt just before you hit the door, sufficient to scare the ducks away. Do you remember ?

Thursday, I also had to take Maya for her one year checkup with her pediatrician. She’s growing up to be a tall girl. She’s in the 98th percentile in height for her age. She’s just three inches short of three feet and she’s just a year old! She weighs almost 23 lbs. Everything else about her health checked out fine. She also got her MMR and Chicken pox vaccine. They said that she might get a fever from that a week or two later. She was calm and cooperative most of the time, though she doesn’t like being held down. Even after she got the the injections, she didn’t cry for more than a minute. I remembered how good you were when we took you to the vets for your annual checkup and shots. You hissed only when they stuck a thermometer in your ass. The vet always appreciated your cooperative and good-nature. Maya must’ve gotten that from you.

The path to her pediatrician’s office follows the same route, upto a point, that we took during your last days. Initially, this caused me more pain than I cared to admit. These days that pain has receded. The fork in the road where we turn away from the route we took for you, represents hope, a second chance. I still miss you very much, you little fur ball, you walking flea condo, my little bonsai tiger. Shanthala misses you very much too. We both wish you could’ve seen Maya and she could’ve known you. I like to think you’d have enjoyed each other’s company.

Maya is playing with her mom as I finish writing this letter to you. I’ll see you in my dreams. I love you,

Dinesh

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