She was my life’s constant until she met a guy, a Bengal with six packs. She didn’t hang around our compound anymore, was not there to welcome me and eventually, I moved on too.
She reappeared 3 weeks later looking like she had put on some weight. I suspected she was pregnant and by the look of things, pregnant with twins. I was happy for her. I wanted to be her, I secretly bought for her milk every evening because I wanted her little ones to be healthy. I was hoping that acts of kindness would communicate to the universe.
I wanted to take a picture of her but my phone memory always failed me. I wanted to tweet about how we are expecting but I still couldn’t let her inside my house. A cat pissed in my bed when I was young, I was not about to let that happen to me again. The smell of the piss is still fresh in my mind and besides, I wouldn’t know the first thing about taking care of cats. She loved sleeping under my car, I suspect because it is the shortest of all the cars in the compound. I thought about her every night before I went to sleep and I always felt that she wasn’t prepared for motherhood. It then occurred to me that I hadn’t seen that Bengal Tom since he’d gotten her pregnant. That “muyaye‘ had vanished into thin air, must have found another curious eyed belle in the village and moved on too.
“She will figure things out” I thought to myself. “She is a woman.”
I cleared my phone memory because I badly wanted to tweet about this pregnant cat. But I couldn’t find her. I asked my neighbor about Kitty’s whereabouts but he didn’t know where she had gone either. Maybe, she had gone to give birth in a safer place, none of us had opened our doors to her when she was pregnant. She was probably convinced none of us would open our doors for her when she had kittens allover the place.
Even with that wretch Bengal missing, kitty’s life seemed to be better than mine. Life was happening – she had some drama in her life, in most ways, my life was still the same- in the car alone, at church alone, at the half price movie at Metroplex alone and meetings with my single friends to talk about our single-hood.
“Where is Kitty though?”
My neighbors’ lives had moved on without kitty. Stepping out of the house one morning, I see Kitty, dull and somber. She wasn’t chirpy anymore, her innocence had vanished, and she didn’t have that chubby youthful look. Her eyes mirrored sadness. Where are the kittens? Is she grieving her kittens? Or was she just a surrogate mother. Is she sad that her man wasn’t there for her through all the pain? Kitty started crying all night. It dawned me cats do not cry not to predict death or bad tidings. What did Eve do to God that all her kind should bear the pain? It must have been more than that apple in the garden.
I know that she will pull through. She is a woman. We are wired not with veins, flesh and tissues but we are built with sand, cement and concrete. We are cobblestones.
“You will pull through kitty. I know you will.”
February rains start, it is cold, for both kitty and I. We seem to be the only creatures on earth in solitude. Even the frogs on NatGeo Wild have boyfriends.
I open the door to find Kitty cuddling with that useless stray six packed Bengal in the soft drizzle. Damn Kitty! Haven’t we been through this already? I thought that having an empowered woman like me for a friend was rubbing off on you Kitty. I can’t believe you.
Don’t come at me with those saucer eyes when he breaks your heart again. You are on your own.