“What’s your name,” Coraline asked the cat. “Look, I’m Coraline. Okay?”
“Cats don’t have names,” it said.
“No?” said Coraline.
“No,” said the cat. “Now you people have names. That’s because you don’t know who you are. We know who we are, so we don’t need names.”
― Coraline by Neil Gaiman
I wait while Anu Boo explores the land beside our house. The land is my neighbour’s garbage yard, my Anu Boo’s wonderland, and my meditation hall. As my dog take several hours to drop a piece of turd, I stand there, taking deep breaths and smiling to myself. On one such occasion, I met a white cat.
It was perched on a blue wall, with its gaze fixed on my dog. Although I am an animal-lover, I am yet to understand my equation with felines. In other words, I have to meet more cats to learn if they can love me.
This cat, I want to presume, is the tomcat of our street. Signs: Grumpy countenance, several scars across the face, and the legendary I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude. I think I love the cat already.
Its eyes were odd. One was green and the other was blue. Perhaps, the word ‘odd’ is not right. Its eyes were beautiful. They were very much in its face, but seemed to have a life on their own — if the cat looked down, the eyes could fall and roll on the ground like marbles, and I could pick them up and drop in my pockets. The cat now looked at me, breaking my reverie. Maybe, it heard my thoughts; I wanted to assure that my diet didn’t include cats.
“Hello!” I said. The cat’s eyes followed by dog, who was just beginning to squat to my relief.
“I love your eyes,” I passed a compliment. Of course, the feline didn’t hear a word. Wikipedia says that cats with such ‘odd-eyes’ could be partially deaf. But I believe that this cat chose to not hear me. I love the cat that way.
As my dog dragged me, as the cat shot a condescending look at my dog, I told the cat that I would meet it again, find out if it is a he or a she, so I can employ proper pronoun in my blog. Also, I want to run my fingers on the scars and say we are in it together.