Daily Times

It started by accident. As most love affairs do. I had arrived home late one evening. And saw them. A young adult cat with a slightly smaller kitten in tow. Both appeared great friends. The elder one was rather timid. But her companion knew just what to do. And how to bring the house down when she was through. Flashes of white fur patched with ginger twinkled like fairy lights against the polluted Lahore night sky. Loadshedding notwithstanding. All the while, the grey tabby sat still, on high alert. Hoping against furry hope that I wasn’t a threat. Treats meant for my two sealed the deal.

The next time I spotted her — she was alone. I called her Little Missy and it stuck. All grown up yet forsaken and forlorn without her comrade-in-paws. Asking what happened. Meows declaring that now wasn’t the time. She began following me. I advised her to stay put in case any cars came along. But Little Missy knew better. And then, suddenly, we weren’t alone. Other strays had begun following her, us, in single file. Maybe they knew about the tidbits. Or else were after a little affection.That was the day our relationship changed and Little Missy co-founded my stray cat gang.

It is still going strong. And I do my best to feed them most days. Old faces have come and gone. New whiskers arrive and furry family ties endure. Some come and bid me farewell when there is nothing more to be done. Each day brings trepidation and guilt. Why did I adopt Wahg and Tiara from the streets and not these loveable moggies. There is no answer. Only the blind faith that where we live will continue to be a safe environment. Many have befriended the security guards. Others have set up camp in a neighbour’s garden with no ill-feeling on either side. Residents tell me it’s good that someone is caring for these Cats of a Lesser God while splashing the cash on pedigree chums.

Little Missy rushed over. So I picked her up and plonked her on the seat next to me for the short dash home. A little nervous, she was also tickled pink and wanted all the security guards to see her. To know that she, a street cat, mattered

Still, they are relatively better off than dogs; those wretched of the earth who can take a bullet to the head. Dead. It happened to us, too, in those heady days of crossed paws while willing the un-smart lockdown to give itself another shot with a booster dose of artificial intelligence. A terrible fate befell a family of four stray puppies, all soft golden brown fur and big paws. Boisterous and happy, they ran together as one. Almost immediately, residents complained about the noise.The first time the we heard them, my cats awoke with a start, wondering if this was a new kind of pigeon call. I ventured downstairs and happened upon two. The other siblings were waiting across the car park. Crouching down, introductions were made. One visibly relaxed. The other continued to bark and I gathered that people had been shouting at them to be quiet, or worse. Whenever we met after that, the puppies never said woof to a goose; instead acknowledging me with bashful smiles, front paws raised in solidarity. If and when their world collided with that of the stray cat gang, everything was always cushty.

Then there were three. According to the excited word in the compound. Venturing outside, the bravest of them had the gates slammed firmly shut behind him. As for the others, the sound of gunshots early one morning confirmed my worst fears. No bodies. All were disappeared. And those of us left behind had no recourse to justice before those whose un-hidden hands pull the trigger.

Wahg and Tiara and I welcome recent moves towards banning dog culling and replacing this with spading and neutering. Though anti-rabies jabs remain crucial. However, this needs to be a nationwide drive. No ifs and nose butts about it. Pakistan is home to animals shelters where dedicated activists work on a voluntary basis and rely on donations. Provincial governments need to dig deep before coughing up.

As for Little Missy, she passed away several years ago. One of our last encounters took place on the roadside. I spotted her wandering quite far from the compound gates. She stopped, as if recognising the sound of the car. And when I rolled down the window to say hello, she rushed over. So I picked her up and plonked her on the seat next to me for the short dash home. Naturally, she was a little anxious. But also tickled pink and wanted all the security guards to see her. To know that she, a street cat, mattered. She did. They all do. Paw for one and all for paw.

The writer is Deputy Managing Editor, Daily Times. She can be reached at miranda.dailytimes@gmail.com