These days I am mommy to a cat. She belonged to our neighbors who divorced and moved away and wanted me to keep her while they settled down. I have known Kikky for six years — I fell in love with her when she came to visit us one day. When I found out she belonged to our neighbors, I would, like a love-stricken girl, walk secretly up


their driveway in the hopes of seeing her. They didn’t want me to feed her, though I have to admit I secretly did, a kibble or two here and there, in order to lure her, but she wasn’t interested in the food. She loved the occasional spoon full of cream, though. She would let me comb her and sometimes when I was in the garden she would come by and say hello. Sometimes she wouldn’t come for weeks, and I would be heartbroken. I would always leave my cat door open — I have one from the days I had my own cats, Chua and Purry, before we started spending half the year the India — always open to her mysterious presence.

She has been with me for ten days now (I thought it was going to be two) but they haven’t called me and I haven’t either, being in no hurry to see her go.

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