Daily Times

Hearing me fall on to the bathroom floor, Tiara stood in the doorway, little furry ears pointed forwards. The next moment she was off, howling as she dived, presumably, under the bed; thereby signalling for Wahg to come and take matters into her own paws. Taking a half-step towards me, she assessed that the situation required her to remain calm. The way she always is except when, overcome with affection, she proceeds to head-butt me time and again.

But that day, this plushest of golden tabby cats sat down quietly, back straight, with her big beautiful green eyes on me. Despite my compromised state, I felt a certain tranquillity in Wahg’s silent reassurance. Upon figuring out which side of my body could move — I waved my arm in her direction telling her that there was, indeed, nothing to worry about. Then, with much effort, I inched myself towards the middle of the floor. Still unable to move my right arm and leg, I looked over my shoulder and repeated my words of bewildered comfort. And then I woke up. It was only later that the neurologist told me I had likely lost consciousness. It struck me that Wahg was making a concerted effort to say not a word, as if trying to prompt me to do the same just this once. I am always slightly astonished when introduced by friends to cats who are not accustomed to verbal communication. Even my posse of stray felines whom I try and feed at least once a day come and talk to me; oftentimes, seeking affection more than nourishment. Thus how odd it must be to share space with little furpots who don’t insist on having the last word. Then, almost as an afterthought, it occurred to me to check if I could move my limbs.

Slowly getting to my feet, I grabbed a wide-eyed Wahg and plonked her on the bed; lavishing her with much praise. Tiara, in that instant bounced out from underneath; insisting that she, too, was a good girl. Which, of course is true. She relishes being the (10-year-old) baby of the furry family but often surprises me. Like the time I found an abandoned kitten at the Shell petrol pump near our place. Barely two months old, I took him home and Tiara was the first to pluck up the courage to make him feel welcome. Unfortunately, the kitten decided to pull a fiercely macho stunt by growling at her. Before she could fully register her indignation — a comedy of errors unfolded. Wahg had followed this most unfamiliar of sounds, her face full of confusion at seeing only her sister’s snowy fur, complete with patches of black. Visibly put out at such uncalled for censure, the catriach struck back. By delivering a rather ungentle slap to Tiara’s furry face, prompting her to dash under the sofa. Upon being confronted with the real culprit — Wahg immediately realised her faux paw and rushed over to make amends. By the next day, the two of them were taking it turns to carry out kitten-sitting duties.

As I lay down and passed out, the cats were with me the whole time. Just as they had been when the evening before I had been gripped by an immense pain; much like a metal helmet crushing my skull. At that time, Tiara had come to sit with me. But upon realising that I wasn’t faking it off she went and got Wahg

After making a fuss of both, I lay down and passed out. The cats were with me the whole time. Just as they had been when the evening before I had been gripped by an immense pain; much like a metal helmet crushing my skull. It was so intense that it was all I could do to cry out. At that time, Tiara had come to sit with me. But when she realised I wasn’t faking it off she went and got Wahg. And the two of them settled down to look after me. In the morning, half an hour after calling my aunt to tell her what had happened she arrived to take me to emergency.

I spent the next four days in hospital, having suffered a mini stroke with no discernible cause. Upon being discharged, my aunt dropped me home so I could spend a few hours with the cats, whom I had missed terribly throughout; and to pack a bag as I would be recuperating with family. As soon as I opened the door, Tiara came to greet me, albeit rather tentatively. Whimpering as she sniffed me she eventually asked to be picked up for a big cuddle. And it was then that I noticed Wahg was not with us but sitting on a nearby chair shaking. When I finally got her to move she ran past us, wailing all the while. It was only when Tiara intervened and ponked noses with her that Wahg was willing to concede. Then the three of us sat on the bed and very soon I was being head-butted once more. My housekeeper had informed me that during my hospital stay both had refused to eat anything, spending all their time huddled together on uneasy chairs. It was the same story when I returned from my aunt’s.

This was not the first time that they worried about me.

The year before, after pulling an all-nighter I had set my alarm for around lunchtime. A few minutes beforehand, I was awoken by agitated little lions. Wahg was prodding my arm insistently, with Tiara standing behind her. I patted them both but didn’t get up. The jabbing continued. Tiara used to do this when I first brought her home from the mean streets of Main Market. Used to being up at the crack of dawn, once at Furry Towers she would come to wake me up in much the same manner. The only difference being that she would start off yapping at me, then nudge me repeatedly before slapping my face, full of furry fury at my apparent laziness. By the third day, as she raised her paw to me I took hold of it and gently hissed at her. She never did it again. Though to this day if I tickle her while she is trying to sleep she raises her it to me in clear warning to let sleeping cats lie.

On that particular day, it took me a good thirty seconds to understand what Wahg was telling me. By then, the building didn’t just start to shake it seemed to leap from its very foundations. Up I jumped, grabbing my shoes and laptop. And then I stopped. Instead of going into hiding, they were both sitting together on the bed, looking small and frightened; keeping watchful eyes on me.  Putting down my things I went to them, placing a hand on each paw. Let us all fall down. I knew it would be no good to try and get them into their travel cases as, at the best of times, this is akin to a covert operation planned with absolute military precision. When the worst was over, a friend called to check on us. As I recounted our story — he more or less admonished me, (rightly) pointing out that I hadn’t risked anything for them. On the contrary, I had forced them into a most unfair position. For had I left, they likely would have found safe shelter. But they didn’t. For me.

I say all this now on behalf of Wahg and Tiara, who have a keen interest in British politics; their paws firmly crossed for a Corbyn government. And on behalf of their furry com-cat-riots in that country, to urge Theresa May to secure legislation that recognises animals as sentient beings. For if Article 13 of the Lisbon Treaty can’t be transferred to UK law as part of the Brexit Bill — there is urgent need to introduce such provisions to the Animal Welfare Act 2006.  And then perhaps the criminal justice system can take action against individuals like the gentleman who recently abandoned his 12-year-old border collie up a Scottish mountainside when she lost the use of her legs; so that he could escape unscathed from ‘horrendous’ weather conditions.

Just because Britain has long ago stopped fighting for the underdog — it doesn’t mean that it should bury them all six-feet-under.

The writer is the Deputy Managing Editor, Daily Times. She can be reached at mirandahusain@me.com and tweets @humeiwei

Published in Daily Times, January 21^st 2018.