Hunter, FM and Chhotu

We used to feed a stray cat, Kitty, who loved to spend long hours on our couch or carpet. I learned that cats can trust when she delivered under our bed and made us parents. We were busy raising three kittens for the next five months, and each one of them taught us a different lesson with their diverse personalities.

Hunter, FM and Chhotu are the three kittens I raised and loved. FM was named after radio channels because she could sing. Hunter displayed strong hunting instincts by taking a position, fixing his gaze on food in the refrigerator or a bird on a tree. Chhotu means the youngest one, and he was the most innocent.

When I exited the bedroom at 6 am, three pairs of tiny paws used to be up in the air, asking for milk. The purring and meowing wouldn’t stop till they were fed.

In another heart-wrenching episode, FM disappeared for a week. Kitty, Hunter, and Chhotu would silently move around the housing complex looking for her, but she was nowhere to be found. After a week, FM appeared at the doorstep on a rainy morning, all wet and looking hungry. Her mother cleaned her up. When breakfast was served, her siblings stepped behind and let her eat. She was famished. This was very different from the usual scenario where they fought for food.

She woke up fresh after a nap, and the drama began. Her mother snarled at her. The siblings slapped her on the cheek. It was like a human child being rebuked for straying too far. Later, we learned that a child staying nearby had taken FM away. But she found a way to escape and return home.

On one occasion, I served them curried mutton mince and watched Hunter jump backward in horror. It was not their usual boiled meat or fish. Cats cannot handle spice.

One evening, I returned from work to find tiny strips of newspaper strewn all along the living room. The kittens had worked hard all day to process the newspaper we accidentally left within their reach.

We were compelled to send them to a friend’s farmhouse when neighbors in the building started complaining about their antics and mischief.

The person who drove them to their new home had a tearful story to share. They huddled together on reaching the new place. When this person (our chauffeur) was leaving, they looked terror-struck. They realized that they had been abandoned.

We had sent their belongings – beds, bowls, and toys to make them feel comfortable. But the comfort of a parental figure is different.

The next morning, the friend who owns the farm found a dead rat on the window pane. Their instincts were strong enough to make them kill the rat. But the babies who grew up in an apartment knew that food was served in bowls, and did not move around the place with a tail. They did not think it could be food.

The separation was traumatic for me.

I did meet them once after that. Hunter and Chhotu chose to ignore me as if upset about being dumped. When we left, FM walked out as far as she could, till she could see the car moving away. Those were deeply painful moments for me. I had failed them as a parent.

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Fifteen years later, I have Aria, my female Shih-tzu. She is so similar to FM in temperament, that it makes me think she is a reincarnation.

FM wanted to be with me. She has come back to me.

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Friday Faithfuls