Keki’s Persian cat Cyrus

The trouble with a kitten is that

It becomes a cat

-----------------Ogden Nash



One Saturday, after a nice, warm head bath and a nice warm breakfast, I was relaxing in the rocking chair with a nice book in my hand. My husband had gone to the office and the children to the school. Heavenly peace reigned in the home. Such divine moments are hard to come by.



The doorbell rang. I reluctantly got to my feet, wondering who it might be and resolving to give a tongue-lashing if it happened to be a door-to-door salesman.



Our new, young, Parsee neighbor Keki was standing at the door with only a Turkish towel wrapped around his middle. From his waist up, he was naked. Water dripped from his hair and he was highly agitated.



“Auntie, did you see my cat? I was in the bathroom and I saw it jump from my balcony. Oh my god, it must be dead!” he said.



Both of us live on the 7th floor of the Ideal Society.



The precious solitude of my Saturday morning was shot, and all for a lousy cat!



However, I am a kind-hearted person and being his mother’s age, forgave Keki his undress and his hirsute appearance. I told him that I would help him to look for the cat.



“How big was it? What color?” I asked him with true detective fervor. By now, Sherlock Holmes had started taking over my personality.



Holding his towel by one hand, he tried to indicate the size of the cat by the other hand.



“Oh, poor kitten, to die so young!” I said, thinking that the size of his out-stretched palm indicated the size of the cat.



“No, no, auntie, he is a big cat.” Here Keki let go of the towel to indicate to me the size of the cat with both his hands. The towel started slipping down. Keki hastily slammed his elbow into his own midriff and just in time, stopped the downslide of his towel.



“Ok, ok, I understand. He is a full-grown cat. What color?” I asked.



“It is an orange Persian cat, my beautiful Cyrus” Keki had tears in his eyes.



Now that I knew that it was a fully grown tomcat, I had stopped worrying about it. In my experience, adult cats know perfectly well how to take care of themselves. If it were a kitten, I would have worried. As it was, I was sure that if Cyrus had jumped from the 7th floor balcony, he had a perfectly good reason to do so. Probably he saw a mouse or a sparrow and wanted to hunt it.



“Oh, come on, Keki. You know cats have nine lives, and they always land on their feet. I am sure, Cyrus is fine.” I said.



However, Keki was inconsolable.



“Auntie, I am afraid he is dead.” His voice was thick with emotion.



“Ok, Keki, let us go down and see for ourselves.” I suggested.



“Ok, let us go, though I am afraid.” he said and turned towards the lift.



“Hey, Keki” I called him back. “Don’t you think you should wear some clothes before going down? There might be young girls about.”



Now, Keki looked at himself and blushed.



“Yes, I will put something on and come. Won’t take a minute.” He said and dashed into his flat. A minute later he was back, this time properly dressed in jeans and a T-shirt.



We went down in the lift and searched the Society’s compound. No mangled remains of a cat presented themselves to our eyes. This perked up Keki a little, because now it was clear that Cyrus had not committed suicide by jumping from the 7th floor. However, the problem still remained, because now, it was a case of The Lost cat.



Both of us went around the society in opposite directions. I shouted ‘Cyrus, Cyrus’ intermittently, and Keki whistled for his cat, but we did not find it. Society’s children gave us unhelpful suggestions, but Cyrus did not make an appearance.



At last, tired and unsuccessful, we came back to the 7th floor. By this time, the Sherlock Holmes in me had decided that looking for a lost cat was beneath his dignity and an insult to his abilities, and he should only be looking for lost tiaras and such things.



“Auntie, I am bushed. Can I have a cup of tea?” Keki asked. Being a bachelor, he was perpetually short of ingredients needed to make tea. He did not even have a gas burner, but made do with an electric one.



I too needed a cup of tea after our exertions, so I invited him over.



I went into the kitchen to make tea.



The pot of milk that I had boiled in the morning and kept on the kitchen platform to cool, had upturned. The milk had spilled all over the place and Keki’s *%^$&% orange, Persian cat Cyrus sat on the parapet of the kitchen window, delicately washing itself.



I was enraged. “Keki, come here this minute. See what your stupid cat has done.” I shouted. He came running in the kitchen.



“What Auntie. What happened?”



“Just see what your damned cat has done, and you see him sitting there unashamedly?” I asked and picked up my rolling pin. “Just let him come in.” I said brandishing the pin and relishing the thought of hitting Cyrus with it.



Keki’s relief at seeing the cat was overwhelming. He was actually happy to see that damned nuisance. He whistled.



Cyrus looked up, blinked and swaggered away insolently.



“So, Keki, now no milk, no tea! Actually, you should go and bring some milk for me.” I admonished him.



He took it good-naturedly. “Sure, I will” he said. “I am even dressed to go out” he grinned, remembering his undress of the morning.



He was nice, basically. The same can’t be said about his cat.