Tuesday, 12 August 2014


Sleep Like a Cat is dedicated to Pooffy.

 My beautiful white and honey colored first Pet; A Cat, from the land of the Royal Bengal Tiger. Come to think of it, he was a Royal Bengal Tiger... in the true sense of the word.

I am word struck as a person just as my cat was a kitty of very few meaows. But I will try and attempt to do justice to his memory; one more time. In this blog.

Pooffy came into our lives on a sunny morning. I had picked him up from a friend who had assured the first time worried pet keeper, me, that the little kitten was potty trained.

My dad had been doing the aarti (morning prayers) when I stepped into the living room with the tiny white bundle tucked in a shoulder bag. The bundle, true to my friend's word, made a bee line for the litter box, everytime he had to go. And lo presto! he was accepted by my parents as a child every parent could be proud of!

  The first week saw him disappearing to the farthest corner under the bed every now and then,  with me crawling on my belly to retrieve him.  And then there was a. Repeat!

But very soon the little kitten took to bounding to the door each time the doorbell rang, sniffing at shoes and everything else that entered the door, hiding among woolen clothes in the wardrobe, sleeping on silk sarees as per avaliability, rolling around the mop/broom and chasing/pouncing/devouring everything that moved and was smaller than him. This includes my toes and fingers.

But this also included stressing out when someone was late reaching home. Refusing food till they arrived. And off course the ever finicky cat trait of refusing completely palatable food. Especially if the smell of biryani and the likes came wafting from anywhere in the neighborhood.

May I add he was a domestic cat? He walked outside on a leash. I know I refrain from keeping another pet cat cause I want to see the animal being able to run around outside in the open freely. But living in a bustling city makes me worry... I remain petless.

 I will always feel guilty that I did not/could not do enough. For the little ankle biter I had lovingly called Pooffy. Who passed away very young. Only 2 years and some eight months old.

 I remember googling with the question if animals have souls after he passed away. I did not get conclusive evidence.

 But I would still like to believe he is in kitty heaven, chasing butterflies and playing with puppies in a lush garden. One I could not provide for him. rip poofy.