The little kitten that came home in a cardboard box from the market where she had been found, sickly, weak and dramatically dying, spent her first few weeks in sleeping, as she decided whether to live or not.
Then three months later when she got spayed at the CUPA clinic in Bangalore, she came home a different kitten. The operation was done so well by those very dedicated doctors, that there was no need to give her the antibiotics they had provided.
In fact, four hours after the operation she was clambering over the kitchen cabinets, and every place she should not. That was when the first chilling doubt began to enter the mind – was this a normal stray kitten or one that the Taliban had groomed and trained and turned into a terrorist?
With every hour that passed, it was all too clear that this was no ordinary kitten, cute as a tulip, tender as a muffin! First of all she rammed into the handbag that lay on the sofa and tore up a 2 thousand rupee note in seconds and looked up at me eerily, wickedly and totally madder than the maddest of killers! She trusted nobody and nothing!
She thought the entire household was worthless and had to be attacked and finished. Then she tore around the house, threw down kitchen vessels, poured the entire bottle of oil down, cut open milk packages, then attacked the garden! There she joined hands with the rascally resident rat under the soil, and together they mutilated and murdered the roses, killed and vanquished the Zinnias, and glared over everything. She chopped up cookery books, cut open story books, demolished and desecrated magazines, ate up all the newspapers that might be telling the world about her rotten behavior! Then she took away and carefully hid all the hair bands I owned, thinking they were weapons of war.
But worse was to come. She began to show us this completely mad, reckless and ruthless glare, which had only one message for us “I am going to finish you all.”
Then she picked on Pari which was the most frightening act yet!
Pari is the oldest, sweetest, most angelic slate grey cat of the house. She is silent, serene as a star, gentle as a nun and of an age when she seems to be ready to start reading Jane Austen, beginning with Pride and Prejudice, what else?!
But the Taliban’s kitten glared at Pari saying “Austen? Are you mad?” stamped on all this literary nonsense and pounced on the house angel for an instant battle of paws and claws and knuckles and growls. The scary thing was that the Angel too preferred a terrifying battle with the Taliban than to meeting the delectable Mr. Darcy!
She and the Taliban’s little horror rolled over and over in the garden, never mind what the roses may have to say, and began the fight unto death!
They had this searing skirmish five to ten times a day and the really scary thing was that Pari was even winning it most times! Could this mean that our resident Angel cum nun was being trained by the Taliban’s ghoul to become a terrorist as well?
Next she scampered up the steps, rammed into the book room, demolished every single book that might turn Pari back into that angel she was before the Taliban Terrorist changed everything so terrifyingly.
What had I gone and done? Was there to be no help for this most unholy war of feline miscalculations?
Misery’s Moon was finally washed away when the dark, greying, fur stamping paw clawing air cleared up with several small, bright new stars appearing in the war zone. We found that besides strangling and mangling one another, Pari and the Taliban’s warrior washed each other up and then fell asleep hugging each other! This did not at all seem Taliban like! Can you imagine this happening in Taliban Zone?!! Hugging and washing and kissing? No way!
If the Taliban’s kitten was served first, in the morning, with her favourite kitten food, she waited till Pari ate up first! And if Pari got her dry cat food, she shared it with the small terrorist!
Even as we began to consider naming the Taliban’s kitten something less unpleasant, there is also the secretly joyous feeling about all that militant, merciless mangling and strangling energy! One thing was sure, if ever a declawing vet dared to come near this tiny kitten from the market, what she appeared to have learned from the Taliban, would do no good to that vet! At all!
And what could be a better gift from the always mysterious feline world, than this tiny trauma inducing fur coated arrival from the market?