Our neighbour’s stray cat is a patchwork of colors: white fur coat broken by a round grey spot on her back, and pointy orange ears. In the morning, we hear her caterwauling outside the house, prowling for food. My cousins slowly started feeding her scraps and soon she grew on all of us. Enough to take care of her on the days food was rare, or when it got cold and rainy, and especially during her pregnancies. She squeaks and tweedles right outside our door waiting for somebody to answer. I started feeding her myself and she even let me clean her. We call her Kote, the mother cat; a Swahili word for around.
I stayed under my aunt’s roof with my cousins. She never really liked Kote. One day she found the kitchen door ajar. A pot was on low heat over the stove. I had seen Kote leaning through the window frame, spilling wide eyes pleadingly for a taste, but there was only enough to feed people that day. I briefly left the kitchen for the hanging lines to get laundry, when Kote snuck out of my sight to the kitchen. Aunty walked in to find half a pot fallen to the ground when she saw Kote’s face covered in soup, meat in her teeth. Aunty startled her with a slipper, sending her flying out of the house. I only got a glimpse of Kote’s tail vanishing over the wall. My aunt frowned and yelled at me. She said she never wanted to see any of us feeding that cat again; “Pass it on!”
When Kote had her first litter, she became even more upset. When she found the nursing cat perched inside her cupboard, surrounded by a kindle of kittens, she called us to see the five new kittens. “I told all of you to stop feeding this moggie, now look and see,” said aunty, “get her out of this house. I never want to see her face ever again.” My elder cousin wrapped the blanket around the new cats, carefully placing them at the front of the gate.
We do not know where Kote took them, but we hoped they were fine. “They’re cats after all,” I comforted my cousins, “they got nine lives.” I had not really warmed up to the stray so I indulged my aunt when she complained about the irresponsible neighbours. The audacity to bring in a cat with no intention of raising it, the nuisance of not spaying her, and the lack of communication about the inconveniences. We tried to soothe her, so she never brought it up to them, although she still brought it up time and again.
One sunny afternoon, I bent low, rinsing and hanging laundry. I saw Kote approaching with another cat trailing behind her. I squinted to get a better look at them. The other cat seemed slightly smaller, growing bigger and bigger as they approached, until they were finally trilling next to me. I watched Kote play with the cat, bunting and bumping their heads gently. They purred melodically and left before I was done.
I was cooking when the two returned. Crooning outside the window, three more cats joined in their chorus for the chef. I could not help but notice how they shared a familiar head shape. When I finally pieced it together, I poured some more water into the pot, chopped a little bit more of everything. It was a family dinner and I was excited to see most of her litter had survived. I had no idea where they slept and that was not my responsibility, aunty always reminded us. I watched them come and go as they pleased, jumping over walls, chasing sunlight and hiding under cars. It was something almost magical about them when they were not a nuisance. As if they knew when to appear with their doughy eyes, wearing us out, especially Kote. One day, my cousin realized that she was pregnant again. It was a cold evening when he found her stretched over the doormat, her round belly pouring over the coir. One of her children looked across from her. My cousin told us quietly where aunty could not hear us talking.
Kote gave birth with a long face, my cousin showed me over the phone. I had moved to a distant town for school. The first kitten arrived much faster than the rest, coiled and lilliputian, squirming out the amniotic sac. The next four faced some troubles but finally found their way out. Purrs and murmurs blasted from my speaker as my cousin struggled to find a good angle to show me over a WhatsApp call.
Watching Kote deliver her second litter brought me joy. I reminisced about my aunt’s house and could not wait to visit. The next day I called to check in on them. I learnt the kittens did not spend even one night in the compound. Aunty did not allow it. Somehow, Kote figured out she could take them to the backyard, and hide them under old rubber tires. She was a brilliant cat, almost got away with it, until she got busted. I heard the car ride was fraught with eerie silence when my cousins dropped the kittens to a different place, far away from their home.
I never thought I would see the day Kote became pregnant again. When I finally returned to stay with aunty over break, I noticed her graying fur. Although I first hesitated to feed her, I eventually conceded to her soft wiles, pushing her some leftovers. We grew an understanding. She was not my cat as far as I never went out of my way to house her, but she was our homey. I fed her time and again.
This time, I already learned to tell when her belly meant trouble. The moon seemed to hide its face on the day she went into labour. The stars lost their spark. She writhed and tore through the carton with her nails and teeth. She bit her tail. Her belly expelled from her bony frame and her legs would not stop shaking. Her cries swelled drifting and drew me in. Two kittens quietly lay beside her, slimy with blood and body fluids, but she was still pushing. I set up a water bowl for Kote and even doused it with a few drops of honey, for energy.
*****
Tiger was an orange cat; a little gingerbread man, I used to tease him. He whined all day. One time, I even caught him faking a limp. He charmingly bends his back to reveal his underbelly—all white fur starting from his socks, all around his neck, until it finally stops, at his pink nosetip, and he turns to orange again. Delivering a Tony-worthy performance, to seek attention. The cat they pondered on in that one English phrase about a king. Always looking for food, mewling at his mother or turning to me when his siblings crowded him out. A true thespian he was. I used to feed him from a bag, punctured at the tip.
Tiger’s siblings were nothing like him. One was gray with horizontal stripes painting her legs like a zebra. I named her Snow because her face was so white on the day they were born, hanging low under her perked-up gray eartips. Snow was the first in the litter to arrive on the day Kote came cowering beneath the sink.
Kote was snarling louder than the television when I found her, crouched reclusive, inside a tiny box. She had hidden it, while nesting. Tore through the carton, lunging toward me. I was startled and had no idea what to do. It was just me and her when I rummaged for a larger box, padding it with the clothing she had gathered. She is so lucky I was never going to tell anyone about the leso (Swahili cloth wrap) I found or she would be toast.
I led her into my bedroom to give birth. Laid the box laterally on the floor, with the top part facing my legs. She walked into the corner groaning. Then, she started to pace and twist her head when all of a sudden, she curled up closer to my socks, which were poking outside the box. She was not crying; just licking herself profusely, and I did not want to distract her with my staring. I continued to watch television until she started yowling, then I finally peeked my face. I found Snow resting with Panther, the two sitting beside their mother, while she was busy pushing out the next babies.
Kote was in excruciating pain. I had never seen her eyes turn so dull. I started to wonder what would happen when everyone heard the news. I was lost deep in thought when I watched her turn, out of the corner of my eye. When she finally met my gaze, she was slurping her placenta, and resumed licking her quadruplets. That evening was unusual in so many ways. My cousins took the news better than I expected once they arrived. They paid her a visit and brought food with them, tasty food from the table. It was extra delicious watching Kote devouring the night away.
*****
Pancake was my favorite kitten. He purred low as a cub, but was so gentle that it seemed to impress his mother. How fast he took after her. She nodded to him whenever I let her back in from her daily rendezvous. I liked chunky Pancake because he was all gray, with a lollipop head, and the kindest blue eyes. Blue as a river. I had never seen anything like it. I proceeded to care for the kittens for a short while. I knew my aunt would not tolerate the thought of me keeping any of them. I simply said I hoped they grew enough to stand a chance in the wild. When their teeth started showing, I told my aunt that keeping them in the box was good for the neighborhood. The community of strays was rising at an alarming rate, and I could try to find them a home. So, they grew up around me, became brave enough to come up to the water bowl on their own, and in a few weeks those hippy little stars were jumping up and about like they lived in a jungle.
Kote would go and come as she pleased; sometimes I would feed her children, and sometimes she would feed them. Sometimes she played with her kittens, and a few times she preferred solitude on the mat I stowed for her under my desk. I carefully sealed the top of the kitten’s box with a translucent, and breathable cloth. They did not seem to mind having the den all to themselves. I grew fonder of Kote through caring for her third litter. She won me over with her squeaks, and green golden eyes.
My aunt asked me when I was planning to take the kittens away. I stalled for Kote because we had just shared a special moment with her colony. The previous day, as I sat outside drinking a coca cola, Tiger called out my name, loud and long, as he usually meowed for attention. I was surprised to find him outside since I tried my best to keep them safe by always closing the door behind me. I knew Kote appreciated it; I always let her in when she came back.
I was sitting outside with her, bathing in the sun. One of her eldest sons was splayed on the gravel, orange as a cat can be, up to his nails. I had not pet him; no one ever had, because he was super unfriendly. Further out was a Tabby, the mightiest cat I have ever lifted, and one from Kote’s previous litters, bones heavy as lead. I do not know any of their names; just that they belong to sequential litters. The tabby was looking forward with his back turned to us, facing the box-headed cat perched on the little roof covering our waste container. He was a large white cat with streaks of gray about him, and seemed like an intruder.
I had never seen him before. I brought Tiger to sit on my lap and watch the cats interact. We were so mesmerized to watch his brothers walk up to Kote, circle around her, bopping noses and chuffing. Later that evening, while I took out the trash, the box-headed cat approached me, prancing over the finials. His striking blue eyes seemed to glow in the dark as he lowered them to meet me. Stopping, without running away. I wonder if that was his strange way of thanking me for caring for his kittens. I walked past him again, down from the gate but still inside, and when I looked back, I saw his unbowed head turning to walk away. I was enchanted enough to think I could save Pancake, but my aunt knocked some sense into me when she asked about my plans for the kittens.
She was not having it, and said to make sure I transported the kittens expeditiously to the place we imagined she would move into, after we rented her house out to all the cats. She was not joking, all of them had to go or I was in for some trouble.
A true friend finds a way. I am not super proud of what I did, but I think it was the best thing for everyone. When Snow, Panther, Pancake, and Tiger were several weeks old, big enough to play around, I decided to have a conversation with Kote.
I went up to her. Kittens crowding under and over her belly, and told her what I had planned to do. I was going to take the kittens to a different neighborhood I used to live in, when I had my first job. A community I thought could rescue kittens, found in a box with whatever they needed: food, formula, water, a little bacon, and a leso. I was going to take all the kittens away. All of them except one, I simply could not do that to Kote. One would magically wiggle out of my grasp and away from my reach. One would grow up with the clowder. It was obvious from looking in her eyes that Kote was over the whole stray lifestyle anyway; she preferred the way we cared for her and the kitties. Protected them from other cats barking down the doors, the father cat and his troop trying to barge in. I trusted that the universe would place the kittens in good hands. They had taught me so much about cats, and I made sure they stood a chance in the wild and concrete city jungle.
I spoke to Kote and she seemed to understand me. She started to groan when I lifted each kitten and wrapped them playfully around my fingers. They were purring gleefully, in sight. When I got to Pancake, I was almost sure it was him to escape, my chubby cat. However, Kote seemed to disagree. She murmured extra loud when I got to lifting Panther. Panther, who was healthily growing, fuller into her form. Turned out to look exactly like her mother, head to toe: the spot on her back, the tips of her ears, the patch on her head, even the color of her eyes. They were flesh and blood. Kote puffed loudly for Panther, making a case for her legacy to stay.
“It’s not that easy Kote,” I tried to communicate, “Panther’s a girl, which means she can get pregnant and have more kittens…” Kote interrupted me sternly, and mumbled continuously, catsplaining. “What is so hard to decide, don’t you see she looks exactly like me?” Kote communicated. I changed my mind about helping Pancake escape. I was simply going to flip a coin on the day of, lest I believe I was talking to a cat in real life.
None of the cats seemed interested in the door, but Pancake was cunning. The day before I flipped the coin, he seemed to have hatched an escape. I found him crawling under the door before I opened it. I barely saw him when I drew the door on him, causing him to shriek. He hit his head against the wall and fell, dizzy, spinning around for a moment. He found his footing, retreating to the box. I helped him up, apologetic about the incident, but he was quiet. That afternoon, one of my relatives happened to visit aunty to collect a parcel. Shrewdly, I spoke to her about the kittens, and she agreed to return one kitten home with her. At least now I’ll get to see Pancake around, whenever I visit the country.
On a Sunday at the tail end of September, I flipped the coin. It came up heads for Panther, but walls have ears. I had asked my cousin how likely it was for Panther to come back, should she somehow manage to free herself that night. He replied that it was more likely than not. Soon after, aunty seemed to discover my scheme, so she made a point to oversee the entire process. From loading the kittens into the packaged box, to the moment we drove away. There was no getting past her that day. Panther was the first name out of her mouth; surely made her first to get in the box. Flashes of the day she was born flooded my memory and I felt a flush of butterflies loosening my gut. I was going to miss every single one of them. We drove the three kittens away and prayed that the odds remained in their favor.
Without them, my nights became colder; even the sun turned dimmer for some days. I hope to get over them soon. I am grateful to see Kote grow, coming in time and again from someplace else. We still meet at the door as if nothing has changed. Perhaps love is simply that, when you cannot seem to close the door to a returning guest.
*****
Image: Birgl Pixabay remixed