She is a woman of few words.
Maybe because she lives alone on that strip of the street, though as far as I can remember, she is an independent.
Every day, I would see her walking from the corner of a small stall, as close as she could to the walls on the side of that small alley; where passing motorcycle, bikes, feet squeeze themselves together to keep the traffic fluid.
Sometimes when it is impossible to walk without being kicked of stepped upon she would walk on along the row of fences, down to an even smaller alley, where only one person walking would fit. Then I’d lost her.
I never seen anyone like her before, so she is there by chance. Let’s call it that because I am not sure whether it is a good luck or a bad one.
Like many other girls living on the road, she got herself pregnant very early. She was more or less five months of age; a blossoming teen with beautiful hair and sweet face.
She has five, which she kept inside a box that the stall provided. When her nature have not yet allow her to leave, she live off the mercy of people shopping in the stall, which sell vegs and fritters, though none – I think – is her natural food.
The reason would never be known, but her babies died; one after another. A bad weather? Those were the days when rain poured down on us three days straight. Cold? Bad food?
Still she went. As soon as she can. Back to that one person alley. Up in the morning, down in the evening. There were four left when I just can’t stand imagining how would she feel watching her litter died one after another; helplessly.
The world kept me. One way and then another. I was only able to go to her place three days later, when there were three left.
One brown tabby, one a mini me, the other has lighter brown. She welcomed me, but won’t let me carry her away.
The next two days, two left.
I still offer her the best help I can give, and she finally relented. She spent two days in examination and sent home for rehab.
As of now, four months later, only one left. The mini me. I had named the family based on the tale of Peter Rabbit. The brown tabby is Peter (with rabbit tail and fur), the mini me Piper (or Pie Purr, as the vets call her) and the mother: Josephine. Piper had grown as big as her mom, so I would have to spay her soon before she followed her mother’s footsteps. Would anyone sponsor her SPA treatment for USD 35?
Every day, like good ol’ past, Josephine would march from the end of the cattery; all the way at the back, to the exact same spot, four steps from the kitchen door; where she can see me run about in the house.
She would sit there calmly, tail tucked at the side, for hours and hours. She wouldn’t say anything even when I call her name through the window. She is a woman of few words.
Then when I slip out the door, she would stand and walk back. but only if she saw me with a white bucket. Otherwise she would just sit there, let me pass her and give her a pat on her head. Three at most, then she wants no more.
She never let me carry her.
Sometimes last month, she start following me into the house. She didn’t take long. Just walk around and sniff here and there. Then she would sit in front of the door, waiting. As soon as the door was opened she will walk back out.
In an especially cold and windy night like the one we have these past three days, she followed me into my room.
What a delightful surprise!
So we celebrate. I let her climb my bed and sniff around. Seems like it’s the first time she felt a soft and fluffy place to sleep in her life.
She sniffs catnip for the first time, and it’s very entertaining to see her poking around in doubt, before giving up to a full roll and squeeze a few minutes later.
She got her picture taken with her consent for the first time, in exchange of sniffing the camera lens wet.
She got treat others are fighting over. She curl up at the corner of the bed and sleep like rock the whole night and wake up way into the noon.
Cats need vacation too.