Thirteen

The mother cat cried that entire night. It searched every corner of the house, for it’s missing baby kittens which went out of watch late that evening. That night, I sat on the bed, up from sleep to it’s crying, heavy eyed with my hand held against the bed couch. As I watched it walk through the hall and stand by the locked door, I regretted over abandoning the little ones from it’s mother. We gave the two kittens with dad who dropped them somewhere on the way where there were houses so one of those would adopt them. Had the kittens didn’t expel faeces on every nook in the house they wouldn’t have been kicked out. The mother cat stood by the door, head up and constantly meowing, it’s eyes searching.

The following morning it walks into the kitchen, hoping to find in the wooden logs underneath the kitchen stand where the little ones would usually snug up during those rainy days. It’s feathery paws rummaging thoroughly. It then walks out from inside. Lion foot through the passageway, looking around and stands in the open window above the cowshed outside. Gets down to the piles of cut down areca trees, when the kittens were scuttling about when they were put out the house the previous day for shitting under the bed. And begins it’s search, with utmost hope to find it’s little ones. Sometimes, cats are humans too.

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