The Cat Called Fish

Yesterday went to buy some fish with a friend. Preparing a dinner for some friends. At the 4 bungalows market in Andheri West, Mumbai. While browsing through the fishy expanse one heard a growl, a meow in fact of a cat. A kitten it was in fact. It was tiny, looked malnourished. My friend suggested that we take the tiny thing with us. I protested. I don’t support this kidnapping, I asserted. A bigger cat was close by, looking I thought at me. Could it be this little things mother I wondered? There is the mother, I proclaimed. The little kitten was in the crook of my arm right then. We looked at the cat and the cat looked right back at us. Without any emotion. Then it walked past us. My friend was ecstatic. Not the mother was the verdict. Imagine a new, cleaner environment, good food etc my friend and chief instigator suggested.

This kitten was being kidnapped from the rowdy, noisy streets of 4 bungalows for another close friend of ours. Yesterday they were in a hurry. They had to catch their bus to Goa, for a small vacation when the news of the kitten reached them. They are looking forward to their return, courtesy their kitten.

So the kitten traveled with us in an auto rickshaw, then an air – conditioned car and we finally reached our base. New environs and new people. The kitten was taking its time. A couple of our friends were talking, playing and generally making things comfortable for the kitten when the chief architect of the entire operation decided to give the little one a bath. The kitten was put under a tap, without exposing its ears. It started to meow ardently. You tyrant it wanted to shout. But it was dirty too.

The tiny one shivered for a bit and then sank into a huge windcheater. It felt warm, safe and slept for the next hour. Stockholm Syndrome suggested Abhishek. It seemed so anyways. Fish broth was prepared for the esteemed guest. It sniffed and rejected it. Same with milk and biscuit broth.

What’s it called, asked someone?

Fish, I said. Our cat is called Fish.