I was lad about 8 years old living in a DDA flat in Katwaria sarai- Delhi, with no siblings to share my toys (and space) and with over generous parents, I was allowed to invite home any living organism as long as my indulgence would allow my father to read his newspaper and my mother to cook food.
Now that it has been over two decades, I don’t remember that particular day I saw her for the first time – it was somewhere close to late February, but her image is embedded in my memory like a diode on a circuit board. She was a black and white cat, a bit tubby; her fur coat was thicker than any neighborhood cat I had ever seen, her manner was friendly and her eyes looked very innocent. Our flat on the first floor had two doors, one was the entrance to the flat and the other opened up to a single flight of stairs that led to the roof. My new friend knew both doors very well and she would greet me with a “Meow” when I least expected, my affection for animals and in particular cats, led me to befriend her by giving her biscuits, bread and sometimes milk.
Within in a few days of introduction, she would allow me to touch her back, actually she enjoyed it when I ran my fingers through her back and I enjoyed the feeling of her soft coat on my fingers. She would express her affection by rubbing her body against my legs while she walked in a pattern of eight. However we had our limits, I knew that she was too protective of her tail, as she had shown me her canines when tried to touch her tail and she knew not to enter the kitchen as I had run after her with a broomstick when she tried to do so once. This was more of a selfish act as Mom would never allow the cat inside the house if she found its paw prints on the kitchen soap.
A few more weeks passed and the festival of Holi came, something I used to look forward to during those days, we had a cracking holi that year the likes of which are only seen in bollywood movies. Throughout the day I never saw the cat; my father said she would be hiding somewhere as cats hate water. The next morning, the familiar “Meow” compelled me to open the back door and there she was, my black and white friend had a new color on her, her back was a bright almost fluorescent pink, it seems I was not the only one who had a smashing Holi. From that day she came to be known as Rangoli by my father and the name started to spread through the neighborhood like bushfire. Even after a few weeks, when Rangoli was back to being grayscale, she still was called Rangoli. From then on, she was a regular visitor to our neighbors flat and the other 5 flats that surrounded ours but she spent most of her time on our terrace basking in the sun and chasing dragonflies and the odd butterfly for no rhyme or reason. Her beauty and innocence made her a darling of the neighborhood and everyone from the Shopkeeper who lived next door to the milkman who delivered milk at night loved Rangoli, the milkman after distributing milk to all the homes used to keep some aside for Rangoli and her new Beau which the two enjoyed while I watched them from my window.
A few days later my interaction with Rangoli grew more and more and I was able to train her (a bit) she would sit when I told her to sit and stand when I told her to stand – that’s it. Cats are very hard to train for two reasons
1) They are not as smart as dogs and lose concentration very soon
2) They are not as stupid as dogs and have a lot of self respect
Speaking of dogs, one day I had stepped out to pick some flowers from the park for our morning Pooja, I saw Rangoli at the edge of the park, at the other end was the mean neighborhood dog everyone hated, the dog spotted Rangoli and ran towards her at a very fast pace. I couldn’t control myself and ran towards Rangoli to protect her; all the while the cat did not give up her position and refused to move. The dog reached the cat before I did and I thought, it was the end, but I was wrong. Rangoli, at the very nick of time jumped in the air, raised her right paw and struck the dog’s face so hard that he let out a cry similar to a rat being stuck in a gin trap and bolted the other way.
Rangoli’s visits to our flat was a running joke in the neighborhood, other kids came to my home just to play with the cat. A few days on, we could smell something foul in the house, a day or two later the smell got so revolting that we could neither eat, nor sleep. It was a Saturday and my dad was home, while my mother and I had gone to school. On our return we found the man of the house looking a bit shaken as he sat on the stairs outside the house. We went in to find a bunch of incense sticks burning in both the rooms and in the kitchen. Upon inquiry by my mother, this is what my father said:
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