It was in late October when I saw them sleeping piled up on their mother. It brought smiles to my face, so I took some pictures.
In the meantime I kept hearing the stories of how the mother takes care of her kittens. How she demands more food for them and wud not move unless she got enough for everyone.
How she plays with her children and keeps them in good humor.
How she protects them with all her might against insensitive Indians.
Her favorite son was the white one sleeping on top of her.
He was the leader of the gang. They started calling him ‘ the dog’ instead of the cat. He wud bark like a dog and go running to my nephew when he smelled him coming home.
This ‘dog’ used to play with his brothers all day. He wud not let them sleep in peace. He was always up to something. They way he walked, the way he expressed his love made him endearing to the host family.
He was killed last week. A bastard on a bike crushed him.
The mother sat all day near the spot where her son was killed. Lost in her thoughts.
Since then she is not been the same.
She does not come up to the house to seek food. She does not breast feed the other kittens. They too are shaken up and dont go near her. The host family is trying their best to bring her to be normal again. Nothing is working. Someone said she has gone mad now.
She had lost one of her sons to the natural causes last month. She took it very well then. Now she is not.
How does a cat knows the difference between a ‘natural death’ and the one due to ‘human aggression and insensitivity?”
The bastard on the bike got away with murder. In India, one always gets away with murder or betrayal or uncivilized behavior.
Question is do we ever know who else dies when someone dies?
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