When I tell people I have a cat, the most common reaction is an audible ‘aww’. In their heads, they picture a cute fluffy thing that sits on my lap and gently nibbles at my feet while I stroke its fur. That is the most common perception of a cat.
You could be Ernst Blofeld, the criminal mastermind, hatching plans of global domination in James Bond movies, but your cat would still be beyond reproach. Pinto isn’t like that. To be fair, Pinto does nothing to further the image of his species as viable human companions. In the world of cats, Pinto would be the equivalent of an Italian mob boss. Like any good mob boss, there is no touching Pinto, there is no lap sitting and there is definitely no fur scratching — one must maintain a respectable distance at all times. That is, of course, if they want all of their fingers intact.
Further evidence in support of this theory is that Pinto doesn’t like his mugshot taken, stays in the shadows and will never respond when you call out to him. In fact, the only way to get an audience with Pinto is over a fine meal. You get 10 minutes of divided face time while he gorges on his food with no promise of there being a follow-up appointment. Come night, Pinto can be found in the balcony exacting his revenge on cardboard boxes by shredding them to bits, and threatening my solitary cactus plant and his stuffed toys into paying protection money. His favorite so far is staring at me while I sleep with a look that can only be translated as, “he sleeps with the fishes, soon.” Pinto is so OG that when he scratches himself, his fur falls off. Failure or delay to follow any of Pinto’s instructions is followed by a sharp thwack to the head silently delivered in the wee hours of the morning.
Happy signs
The reason I provide this context is these are general signs of stress and aggression in cats. Given that Pinto is a stray and has had traumatic encounters with humans in his previous colony, this is to be expected. What surprised me is, during this current lockdown, Pinto’s behavior has changed. One might dare say he displays signs of being happy. How do I know he’s happy? He now presents his butt to me thrice a day. For non-cat people, that’s the human equivalent of “tu hi mera bhai hai” after a mere two drinks.
In the first few days of the lockdown, I made a list of all the ingredients I could feed myself with. Notice how I do not use the word ‘cook’. The list included all the ways I could make eggs with and with what I could pair them with. Boiled, scrambled, omelette, bhurji, poached, fried, akoori, bread, and Maggi. I set about making a list of all possible permutations and combinations of these elements and ended up with 14 ways to diversify my meals. Pinto has all of two options — wet and dry food twice a day, every day. Despite this, he was still managing a lot better than me which is extremely frustrating. Which is when I decided to emulate the Pinto way of life.
The proposition of a Pinto bubble is simple. It is to temporarily erase all knowledge of the world outside. Your bedroom and, if you can afford one, your balcony are all there’s left in the universe. Greet each meal, however repetitive, with relentless enthusiasm. This can be achieved by distrusting your human to the degree of thinking he will definitely forget to feed you — this might just be my last meal. Boiled chicken in gravy doesn’t sound so bad now. If we’re able to forget the endless world of choice that we used to live in, the Spartan one suddenly seems bearable, almost cozy.
Three toys
Since he’s moved in with me, Pinto has all of three toys to pass the time with. He has his stuffed Santa, his catnip-filled frog, and his two scratching poles with a hammock between them. Has he ever missed a single playtime? No. Has he ever displayed boredom with them? Never. He’s just as excited running after that frog as he was the very first day and when that frog was fully formed. It is now missing all its limbs and an eye. Pinto was able to surgically detach them. Pinto has three toys; I have the entire Internet and guess who’s been complaining about being bored. This is generally the point where you start feeling a bit ashamed and petty. The point is, for Pinto, there are no other toys that exist. As far as the world goes, these are it, these are all that have ever been and will be. If we can believe that what we have with us in our rooms, right now, is all we’ve ever had, then that might help us be a lot more content and a lot less frustrated with all the things we can no longer do.
If none of this works, do what Pinto does after his afternoon meal. He finds a spot in the balcony where the harsh midday light is diffused through tree leaves. He sits comfortably and stares into the distance plotting exactly how he’s going to ensure I don’t sleep a wink that night. More importantly, how he’s going to do it differently from all the previous times so that I don’t see it coming. If our goal is getting through a fixed number of hours each day, planning exactly how we’re going to do that differently each day is rewarding but it’s also time-consuming. You could easily spend half a day doing just that. That’s just doubly rewarding. Planning evil or hatching schemes to execute during or after the lockdown is even more rewarding. My flatmate hasn’t slept a wink these past three days.
The writer is a freelance author and illustrator.
