The Cat Who Chose Me

Chapter 2: The First Night

When I opened the door of my house, it was cold inside too. But it was less cold than outside. I quickly closed the door behind me, so that the harsh wind of the street would not come inside. I bolted the door with a click, and she clung even tighter inside my jacket, shivering.

Ammi had gone to sleep. The house was silent. Only the old clock hanging on the wall was making its tik-tik sound. I took off my shoes quietly, but she didn't make any noise. She was still hiding inside my jacket, too scared to come out.

My room was at the very end of the house. A small room. One charpoy, one old wooden table, one chair whose leg was broken, and a small window that had been jammed shut because of the cold. I switched on the light. A dim yellow light spread across the whole room.

I slowly put her down on the floor. I thought she would look around the room, be happy. But no. She ran and clung to my feet. Her tiny nails got stuck in my pajamas. She was still shivering. Not from hunger now, but from the fear of a new place.

For her, this house was also a strange, unknown street. New walls, new smells, new people.

I picked up an old blanket from my charpoy. A blue blanket, which I have had since my childhood. It had the smell of my childhood sunshine and dust in it. I spread it on the floor. I folded one corner double to make it look like a small bed.

"Look, this is your bed," I said. My own voice sounded strange to me. For so many years, I hadn't talked to anyone in this room except myself.

She didn't come. She looked at the blanket first with her big blue eyes, then at me. As if asking, "Can I really sleep here? Will you not throw me out?"

I remembered, she hadn't even eaten properly. She had only eaten a piece of roti in the street, what would that do for such a small life?

I went towards the kitchen. It was dark. I slowly switched on the light, so that Ammi's eyes wouldn't open. I opened the fridge, there was a little milk left. I took out a small steel bowl, poured the milk, and mixed a little water in it. Ammi always says, don't give a kitten undiluted milk, its stomach will get upset.

I heated the milk a little. Not too hot. I put my finger in to check. Just warm, like we do for a small baby.

Just then, I heard a voice from behind.

"Abdullah? What are you doing in the kitchen so late at night?"

It was Ammi. She had woken up, wrapped in her chadar.

Something got stuck in my throat. I felt hungry, I said. I lied. I was scared that Ammi would scold me. Why did you bring a dirty kitten from the street?

Ammi looked at the bowl of milk. Then she looked at me. She said nothing. She just said, "It's cold, drink it carefully. And come back to sleep." And she went back.

I took a sigh. Thank God.

I took an old, slightly broken steel plate. I poured the warm milk in it and brought it to my room.

I kept the plate near the blanket.

"Here, drink it. It's warm."

At first she sniffed it from far away. Then she took one step forward. Then she stopped. She was still scared. I dipped my finger in the plate and brought it near her nose. A drop of milk touched her nose.

She licked it with her tongue. Her face changed. As if she understood what it was. Then she quickly ran towards the plate and started drinking.

Lap... lap... lap...

In the whole silent room, only the sound of her drinking milk was coming. That sound felt like the most beautiful sound in the world to me. Before today, how empty this room used to feel. Only the clock's tik-tik. Today for the first time, another breath was living in this room.

She slowly finished all the milk. The plate became completely clean. Then she started cleaning her small face with her paw. As if she finally got some peace.

I sat down on the floor near her, near the blanket. My back touched the wall. I was watching her.

Her shivering had stopped now. Her paws, which were frozen with mud earlier, were now becoming straight. There were small wounds on her body from somewhere. Maybe someone had beaten her. Maybe a bigger cat had attacked her. Or maybe someone had thrown a stone.

I got angry. How can anyone hurt such a small life?

I moved my hand forward. She saw it. At first she moved back a little. But then she didn't. I gently stroked her neck. Her fur was wet and cold outside. But warm from inside.

She slowly started to close her eyes. She was liking my touch.

Sitting and sitting, I got tired. I switched off the light. Now in the room, only the dim yellow light coming from the street through the window was left. And cold.

I lay down on the charpoy. I covered myself with the blanket. I looked down, she was still sitting on that blue blanket. Curled into a ball. Eyes open. In the dark, her blue eyes were shining.

"Go to sleep," I said. "Don't be scared. No one will say anything to you here."

As if she understood me. She took a long breath. And she put her head down on her paws.

After a while, I heard a small sound near me. Her tiny nails were getting stuck in the blanket. She was trying to climb up. With great difficulty, stepping on the dirty floor, she climbed onto the charpoy. Her paws were cold. She walked slowly, slowly to my feet. And right there, near my feet, she curled up again and lay down.

Her body was touching my feet. Slightly warm. Her shivering had completely stopped.

I moved my hand down and put it on her back. She didn't get scared. In fact, she came a little closer.

That night I had a strange dream. Lying on my back, I was thinking that I am alone in this city. I have no friends in college. There is no one to talk to at home. Life is running very fast. But today, for the first time, it felt like someone needs me. And I need someone.

Outside, the cold wind of Multan was blowing. Dogs were barking in the street. The cold was still there. But in my small room, in my old blue blanket, there were two of us. Me and my small guest.

She was in deep sleep. Her small stomach was going up and down as she breathed. And I was awake, scared that my movement might disturb her sleep.

This was our first night together. And I had no idea that this small cat, which I had picked up from the cold street, would become the biggest lesson of my life. That a real home is not made of bricks, but of love.

That night, I did not sleep alone.