DON'T MESS WITH CATS....OH I WILL!

"And who are you?
the proud lord said,

That I must bow so low?

Only a cat of a different coat,"                                  

                                

In our daily umpteen face-offs, I can hear the proud little lords say this in my face. Maybe not in the baritone voice of Sigur Ros, yet even stronger in their own way. And my castle Castamere, a subject of constant squabble. This dispute dates back to many monsoons, generations have come and gone; yet the proud lords haven't given up.

 It all started from one over friendly neighborhood cat who showed up one too many times at our kitchen door where Shantha Aunty cleans the fresh sardines. It first looked as a blessing, a job cut short as the leftover interiors of sardines had a better place than the compost pit, a good spot near the washing stone; a dinner table for my antagonist and his generations to come. 

 Slowly, the visits became regular, and the number of sardines in my fish curry started getting less. And that's when the probe began and I came face to face with her, the mother of cats.

 It would be an understatement if I said we hit it off on a wrong note, it was mutual hate, nothing more and nothing less. But she had mom on her side and that's the winning side and she knew it too. I had nothing to stop that. But I wasn't alone. There was someone more bitterly than me, biting down her anger with growling and gnashing of teeth. Her limelight was being stole by a cat who visits for some fish leftovers. And they have a generational history too. Spiky, a Doberman who looked like she ate another doberman. Yet, when the paws of the intruder crossed our walls, she would glide over the lawn like a proper doberman. And she became my enforcer in chief, together we made them suffer over the few years.

But she wasn't the one to back down, she fought back and this time in numbers. The antagonist fell in love with a rebel cat in our locality. And with him by her side, she was ready to up the ante, with Khal Drogo on her side, Khalessi was ready for Westeros. Soon, the horde joined as they consummated their union. From a neighborhood cat, an army arose. The equation wasn't even, an army against Spiky and me. 

I chose more of a direct fight, chasing them in our backyard whereas Spiky went the Che way, Guerrilla warfare. She operated on a hit & run basis, nabbing them on their tracks. But what Spiky enjoyed the most was hitting their belly, Shantha Aunty always keep a bowl of food for them to eat. Spiky in her growing anger would devour them first before she goes to her share.

It then got worse, in fact for the first time blood was spilled, an escalation which wasn't foreseen. Spiky on her usual patrolling runs took one down from the pride. Usually, it was treats and cheers for Spiky when she nabs the rodents in the backyard, it was a different reaction this time, one she was unfamiliar of. Spiky got a mouthful from Mom and few spanking from Dad too. But then she looked at me wondering what's going on, she understood it was reproach even from me. 

The conflict of interest became too much for Spiky, she went mellow on the proceedings after that. It was the similar feeling for me too, it was then co-existence on the line of control.

Everything was at ease for some time, generations came and went. But suddenly like Alexander the Great was taken ashore by fever, Spiky the Enforcer got perished by an ear infection. There was such a grieving silence all around, even the pride of our antagonists joined in the procession laying down all the differences and grudge. Spiky went, and with that the battle was forfeited on good measures.

I left home pursuing higher education, and then came a generation of cats who didn't know about the legends and truce prevailing. One day, I was woken by a call from Mom, "CATS HAVE RETURNED!" And this time, they have broken all the Geneva conventions. They were all up for revenge, enticed by some unforgiving soul in the past, a millennial cat pissed all over my bed. I could feel the stench of cat urine at Ernakulam. And this meant only one thing, WAR!

 And they waited in silence till I came back, but then there was a new enforcer at home who kept things in check even in that difficult times. Husky, a fierce true breed Doberman who had no traits of Spiky. She was in charge and she made them know that.

This is not an incident that lasted few months, it spanned across many cat generations and for me, it was an aging process of hair loss and farewells of hard kind. During all this, a deadly virus outbreak and two floods passed me by. And during one flood, our antagonists and my co- enforcer had to share a single balcony for a week, rationing two packets of Tiger biscuits when we were forced to leave their destinies to luck and escape on the tractor that came calling

 They both survived. Together they fought the flood, just like we did. There was peaceful adoration for each other with a harmless playful prank on each other. I didn't mind them that much, for Husky they were sport that gave her daily cardio exercise. Peace was prevailing in the boundaries, with new kittens coming to the pride every other month. 

Here we are, 2020; the mystical fairyland where we invested all our dreams to get the full bounty. And calamity is upon us, vocabulary unfamiliar hitherto fills our daily lives. I was also keeping social distance with our antagonists. One of the pregnant cat was now staying inside the house shielding them from the virus that was off the hook. In a small carton in our staircase, wrapped around Manoharan Sir's Taxation and Saravana Prasath's Costing textbooks, the little ones sleep in comfort. I was finally about to rest the baggage of bad history and be ready for acceptance.  

The thing about grudge is, it can pass on across generations if it isn't forgiven. It can grow inside you like cancer and take down anything. Just like before, an forgiving soul broke social distancing norms and pissed all over my bed again. The mama cat took her kittens and ran to the outhouse. She knew there would be repercussions, and big ones. Husky was on her rampage run, taking down one from the pride. Blood was spilled again. 

Just like Galwan valley, the tensions are high here. And I'm playing it like Modiji, cool and diplomatic as I could be. Monsoon is here and I don't want my bed to smell of cat urine stench.