He was all of around 3 weeks old when I first saw him, trotting down the side of the lane outside my house, oblivious to all the perils of the world. He must've been 4 inches high, and had a white underside, with orange brindled fur. I followed him for a while, and watched as he suddenly ran onto the road right in front of an auto-rickshaw. I followed him instinctively and found myself in the auto's path. After much frantic waving on my part, the driver managed to swerve and screech to a halt, thereby allowing me to pick up the bundle of fur and set him down on the road side. As if on cue, a huge stray mongrel came running up and attacked the little one. At this point i'd had enough, so I shooed him away, and picked up the toddler and took him home.
I was rather fascinated by the little creature, because I'd never seen a child so small, and yet so lively. It being monsoon time, he'd managed to get covered in slush, so, much against his will, he was given a bath. He screeched and scratched right through the entire episode, and for a moment I actually believed he was having a heart attack or something. Shortly after he had been towelled dry, he started exploring my apartment, hesitantly entering the rooms and examining the mattresses. Intrigued by him, I followed, and watched as he inspected the entire place.
Eventually, he came back to me and clambered onto my lap, looked me in the eye, and finally, after much thought, nipped me on my inner arm with razor sharp, half-a-centimeter long teeth. I yelled. That was my first bonding session with Chipkoo.
The kitten turned out to be the complete package. After the first day, where I thought him to be all cute and cuddly, I got to know the 'real' him. He would begin his day by relieving himself in the kitchen, and then move onto chewing on everything that got in his way, which was EVERYTHING. Teething tends to be a slightly difficult situation to deal with for normal people. Wait till you've got a kitten who's teething - the total scratch count went up to around 328 in the first week, between the four of us.
While I was lying down on my bed in the afternoon I decided that he needed a name. I thought of quite a few - Pearl, Jumpy, Ginger, Psycho, Idiot etc, but they just didn't seem to fit. I realised then that I needed to give him a name that suited his personality. I glanced down to see what he was doing. He was fast asleep with his little feline frame stretched across my neck. I gently picked him up and put him next to me, but in the next fice seconds he was right back, purring as he snuggled up to me. That was when it hit me. It could be nothing else. Chipkoo. It was what he was. Who he was. Thus was he baptised.
On the day of Chipkoo's arrival, I didn't tell any of my flatmates that there was a new member in the family. When they walked into the house after work -
Del - 'Madarchod! Who the fuck brought this into the house?'
Loki - 'Abey Saale, Yeh kahan se aaya?'
Jen - 'Fuck this, I hate cats!'
There it began, a forging of new relationships between people who were not interested in a new-comer, and a new-comer who refused to take no for an answer. All the poor lad wanted was attention, and slowly he began getting it. Which brings us to an interesting fact - if you want something real bad, you need to fight real hard to get it. He would meow and bite and scratch and shriek and be a complete pain in the ass, till we would cuddle him. Ten seconds later he'd be lying in the nook of my armpit, or between my legs, or on my lap, passed out. As he started eating properly, his energy levels increased drastically. Now his idea of fun was to scratch and bite till he got attention, and then continue to scratch and bite till he got bored, which could last forever. Needless to say, even for the animal lover in the house (which would be.. ahem.. me) it began to get irritating after a while. However, for the others, it was different. Del and Loki gradually accepted Chipkoo and started chilling with him. It was impossible not to. He was just too damn cute, peppy and tiny to 'not love'. The only one who was insistent that he leave was Jen, as she believed that cats are bad luck, and for some strange reason didn't really appreciate being scratched. I tried, repeatedly, to convince her that he'd improve as he got older, but she wouldn't have any of it. I guess I knew from the beginning that it was just a matter of time before he would leave us. Yet, at some level I believed, because of this crazy little thing called hope, without which we'd be nowhere, that I'd be able to make her love Chipkoo.
I was rather fascinated by the little creature, because I'd never seen a child so small, and yet so lively. It being monsoon time, he'd managed to get covered in slush, so, much against his will, he was given a bath. He screeched and scratched right through the entire episode, and for a moment I actually believed he was having a heart attack or something. Shortly after he had been towelled dry, he started exploring my apartment, hesitantly entering the rooms and examining the mattresses. Intrigued by him, I followed, and watched as he inspected the entire place.
Eventually, he came back to me and clambered onto my lap, looked me in the eye, and finally, after much thought, nipped me on my inner arm with razor sharp, half-a-centimeter long teeth. I yelled. That was my first bonding session with Chipkoo.
The kitten turned out to be the complete package. After the first day, where I thought him to be all cute and cuddly, I got to know the 'real' him. He would begin his day by relieving himself in the kitchen, and then move onto chewing on everything that got in his way, which was EVERYTHING. Teething tends to be a slightly difficult situation to deal with for normal people. Wait till you've got a kitten who's teething - the total scratch count went up to around 328 in the first week, between the four of us.
While I was lying down on my bed in the afternoon I decided that he needed a name. I thought of quite a few - Pearl, Jumpy, Ginger, Psycho, Idiot etc, but they just didn't seem to fit. I realised then that I needed to give him a name that suited his personality. I glanced down to see what he was doing. He was fast asleep with his little feline frame stretched across my neck. I gently picked him up and put him next to me, but in the next fice seconds he was right back, purring as he snuggled up to me. That was when it hit me. It could be nothing else. Chipkoo. It was what he was. Who he was. Thus was he baptised.
On the day of Chipkoo's arrival, I didn't tell any of my flatmates that there was a new member in the family. When they walked into the house after work -
Del - 'Madarchod! Who the fuck brought this into the house?'
Loki - 'Abey Saale, Yeh kahan se aaya?'
Jen - 'Fuck this, I hate cats!'
There it began, a forging of new relationships between people who were not interested in a new-comer, and a new-comer who refused to take no for an answer. All the poor lad wanted was attention, and slowly he began getting it. Which brings us to an interesting fact - if you want something real bad, you need to fight real hard to get it. He would meow and bite and scratch and shriek and be a complete pain in the ass, till we would cuddle him. Ten seconds later he'd be lying in the nook of my armpit, or between my legs, or on my lap, passed out. As he started eating properly, his energy levels increased drastically. Now his idea of fun was to scratch and bite till he got attention, and then continue to scratch and bite till he got bored, which could last forever. Needless to say, even for the animal lover in the house (which would be.. ahem.. me) it began to get irritating after a while. However, for the others, it was different. Del and Loki gradually accepted Chipkoo and started chilling with him. It was impossible not to. He was just too damn cute, peppy and tiny to 'not love'. The only one who was insistent that he leave was Jen, as she believed that cats are bad luck, and for some strange reason didn't really appreciate being scratched. I tried, repeatedly, to convince her that he'd improve as he got older, but she wouldn't have any of it. I guess I knew from the beginning that it was just a matter of time before he would leave us. Yet, at some level I believed, because of this crazy little thing called hope, without which we'd be nowhere, that I'd be able to make her love Chipkoo.
posted by The Dragon Reborn at 8:26 AM
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