“Meow, meow” came the sounds from beneath the trash cans as I was passing by. I look down and lo, I behold a baby kitten, and not just a baby kitten, it was the cutest, most beautiful, most adorable cat that I had ever seen with my own two eyes. It had a gleaming brown fur coat all over its head, torso, and tail and a few black stripes in the body and tail. It also had yellow colored fur over its stomach covered with black spots. Being only a few inches in length, I could easily fit it in the palm of my hand. But it was crying. Oh no, not the way humans cry with tears leaking out of their eyes, but I had enough experience with animals that it was crying as much as any human being. And I did not have to think far to realize that it was hunger which was tormenting the poor creature, noticing the bones sticking out its body held together by scant meat. I immediately went home, and brought some cat food from the cupboard, accompanied by my brother who carried the pet carrier cage. Was I going to rescue the cat, I didn’t know. Was I going to keep it, a thought which had not yet been courageous enough to penetrate the boundaries of my mind? All I knew, or at least I thought, was that I could not leave the poor creature to starve in the wild. It was any way in a very dangerous area since the territory belonged to domineering dogs and the place saw a lot of cars. Without its mother, the kitten, and I too would thank its lucky stars that it managed to survive a day. I laid down some cat food on a plate near the cat, which the cat started to devour greedily as soon as the plane touched the ground. At first, it wouldn’t let me touch it, and would retreat several inches if I tried to stroke its head, but slowly grew accustomed to my touch, and as soon as she would let me approach her, I gently picked it by her stomach and placed her in the pet carrier.
I personally am a proud owner of 2 other cats, a munchkin, and a male Bengal. So, when I brought another Bengal cat to the house, my other Bengal was very apprehensive to the newcomer, as he thought I had brought another to replace him, and so sulking it went away from the room. I understood at once the crux of the matter, rushed after him, and brought him back by picking him up in my arms. By this time, my pretty munchkin was already rubbing bodies with the newcomer, as a sign of welcome. Tom was apprehensive of the competitor and growled at the invader when I placed him close to the cage (I later named the female Bengal Jill). But as soon as Tom understood that I had brought a female (he probably thought I had brought him a partner to mate with) I was suddenly a god instead of just a servant of the house who brought regular meals to his cat masters.
My years with the three cats were, in just simple words, utterly supercalifragilisticexpialidocious (in the words of Mary Poppins). My house also turned into more of a zoo (or sanctuary since the word zoo was almost always represented in my mind as some sort of cage). I started to give more time and fuel to my dream of keeping animals as pets, much to the dismay of my parents and sister, who were completely against this (hobby?) of mine. They were especially against my keeping a baby alligator (rescued from the beach, damn I got several nasty cuts from the young adventurer, how did he end up at a beach anyway?) and a harmless water snake (harmless disregarding the times it bit, those did hurt) which I unwittingly kept in the same pond (result was the death of the baby alligator by strangling from the snake, how is that even possible?) but admittedly, the snake was rather big and thick. My brother would help me with my animals except for the times with the snake. But none lasted as long as my three cats. Animals would come and go (read die, I just don’t have the heart to say it out loud) but my three cats stayed till the end. My munchkin, the oldest of the three went first, although I was happy that he didn’t suffer much. Tom died within six months of the munchkin (of old age). Jill died a year after Tom. I held a funeral for her, outside in my garden (my parents, siblings, and a few friends who loved Jill too).
“All hail Jill the cat, resident of Baker Street. A cat that I rescued (in a half-dead condition) from the harsh streets, a cat who was loving and caring, and a cat who was loved by all who met her. She had been born on the streets unlike my other two cats, but she had outlived them all. It’s true that God gives love and compassion to all its subjects because it showered love and compassion to a cat that should have died of hunger on the streets. I have tried to give her the best time I could these 5 years, and I hope I did it rightly. Her soul, pure and innocent will surely find a place in heaven. I-I….” my voice breaks and my vocal cords freeze, rendering me speechless. Everybody places a flower on the grave, and start to disperse. Before going with my companions, I look around to the grave. Tom, Jill, and munchkin were sitting on it, looking at me. The scene brings back old memories, swelling my eyes with tears, which start to drip from my face. I blink in confusion and find the three of them were gone.
