January 14, 2006

It was a boring day with the Karachi sun sizzling and forming mirages on road. Nothing was peculiar about the neighbourhood. Their cars parked in the porches. Their curtains not pulled apart. Their air conditioners still dripping water.

The crow on the electric cable croaked restlessly. How can crows settle on an electric cable? A question struck my mind. But I had other thoughts on my mind that caused me to shift from the window.

Since morning, I was having a restless feeling. I woke up at seven o’ clock, which is very unusual for me especially as it was a Sunday. I had a queasy feeling in my stomach as though it was upside down. The toe of my left foot was tingling. I could smell conspiracy in the air. I gasped for air as if it was not plentiful.

While strolling in the corridor, there was a bell at the door. “Will you check it out,” mother called from the kitchen.

“Okay Mom,” I said as I pulled the curtain apart to see who was standing at the main gate.

A stout woman, clad in a lawn suit of violet and white colours had her hand on the doorbell. I gasped as I recognized the face.

“Sorry, Mom I have to rush to the toilet. Please check who’s there.” I rushed towards the bathroom and slammed the door.

“I am coming,” yelled mother as she opened the door and ushered the lady inside.

As she entered I got to see her through a crack in the bathroom door. A tan faced, dark eyed plump woman with a hooked nose and hair cut till her shoulders. She was in her fifties as I could recognize the tinge of white in her hair and wrinkles on her broad jawed face. It was Mrs Akbar, our next-door neighbour. She usually brings Ash with her but I could not see any trace of her. Where is she? Yes, I remembered.

It was a similar morning, with no chimneys puffing smoke, when I was two years younger. A white van was parked near the gate of Mrs Akbar’s house, with ‘Amjad Pet House’ written in bold letters in blue, and ‘Free Home Delivery’ and two phone numbers written in red in a smaller font. This information was on both sides of the van. The van being white, had palm and paw prints stained on it. A man in khaki Shalwar Kameez pulled open the back door of the van and pulled out a box with holes in it. I laughed as I thought how worthless a box it was, because it had holes. Mrs Akbar opened her black iron gate with a thrust and took the box from that man. I thought, “Could Mrs Akbar be involved in some illegal activity”. This thought sent a shock wave through my spine. She could be. But then, as she headed towards the wooden door, two curious yellow eyes with an I-shaped pupil, stared at me. At that instance I pushed the curtains aside.

Those eyes ... they haunted me in dreams. There was something peculiar about them. The next day, Mrs Akbar invited my mother to her house. Mother took me along with her. We were ushered in the drawing room. As I entered, ‘the eyes’ startled me. In Mrs Akbar’s lap, lay a curled up fur ball. The eyes belonged to a cat that followed me till I sat on the chair. The cat continued to stare at me. It was of Persian breed with grey fur, its pink nose touching Mrs Akbar’s lap. It looked really expensive, especially with the beaded collar around her neck. Some other women from the neighbourhood were also present. Mrs Akbar started, “Well ladies! Sorry for breaking your daily household chores. I have gathered you all here so you can suggest a name for my cat. Any suggestions?”

“Ramlah,” Mrs Haider said.

“Susie,” Aunty Ruqayya suggested.

“Mano,” Mrs Salman helped.

“Kitty,” a fair lady said, whom I did not recognize.

Mrs Akbar rejected all. She wanted something unique.

“Ashley! How’s that,” my mother expressed her view.

“Nice. Nice. Very nice. But that’s a bit long. What about Ash,” replied Mrs Akbar.

“That’s fine,” all the ladies agreed. The cat’s name received a vote of confidence in the assembly of women.

“What a name!” I cried to my friends, “Ash!”

Those times we used to raid Mrs Akbar’s garden from the backyard and would eat away all the plums, while sitting on the branches. My neighbourhood friends and I would enjoy the flavour.

But since that no good, sneaky, pink-nosed, fur-tailed Ash turned up, our raids became less frequent. Whenever we would be up there, she would bellow a meow and we could hear Mrs Akbar’s footsteps and we would tumble down the tree like jack and Jill. Once, one of my friends was a second away from being caught before he jumped off the wall and Mrs Akbar jumped in the scene. We did not know what happened afterwards because we ran like headless chickens. After that, the cat came to be known as ‘Cigar’ for three reasons. Firstly, because of its name, Ash; secondly due to its smoky fur coat and lastly, it was no good.

It happened last month. We were five on the tree. Cigar came, had a look and meowed and we were doomed. All of my four friends jumped off immediately as they saw Cigar’s tail. It was like a train giving off smoke. My shirt got stuck on one of the spikes of the branches. I tried to get rid of the problem, and what luck I had. Instead of coming downstairs, Mrs Akbar opened her bedroom window and saw me struggling with the branches. She took me to my mother and I was sentenced to a month’s car washing.

I was hungry for revenge. After a month’s punishment, I took Dad’s electric razor. Mrs Akbar was not home and I crept from the back door. It was lying there. Licking its paw. A Satan in a grey fur coat. I despised it. The quadruped mammal stood up on the couch, as it was astonished to see a razor in my hand. I drew nearer, while the cat’s eyes became wider and wider. Despite her shrieks and protests, I shaved her body. Her paw once hit my face and I was angered. As I was about to shave the tail, I heard a barrel fall near the window. I rushed to see who was there but there was no one to be seen. I could feel the danger lurking and walked away.

“Asad! Asad!” I heard my mother calling me downstairs. I knew I was in trouble. There was a tinge of anger in her voice. I carefully and reluctantly came down the stairs.

“Good morning!” I greeted Mrs Akbar.

“Morning.” She looked at me as though she was a cat and I was a pound of meat. Her expressions returned the compliment.

“What happened to her cat,” mother interrogated.

“I don’t ... I don’t know,” I replied hastily.

“Why do you have that scar on your face?”

“Nothing!”

“Oh nothing. Spell out your entire fault.”

“What did I do?” I answered acting as if I was confused.

“Confess or face the consequences. Abdul Qadeer saw all that you did. Apologize to her.”

“Sorry. Mrs Akbar. I didn’t mean to do it. I was compelled by the circumstances.”

“You young lad! I demand a good explanation of your act,” Mrs Akbar ordered.

“It,” I was thinking real hard and my brain cells could have burst. I couldn’t help it and I said, “It scared me.”

“Oh, it scared you,” my mother repeated sarcastically. “Now it’s going to scare the hell out of you. You are to bath Mrs Akbar’s cat everyday for trimming down her hair and you are to take her on an evening stroll on account that you lied, till her hair comes back.”

“Till her hair comes back,” I was astonished.

“Yes”

Now I would like to shave Abdul Qadeer, her servant.

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