I used to hate travelling when I was a kid.
Not because trains were boring or new cities felt scary. Those parts were fun actually. The problem was always the same. Every trip meant leaving her behind at home. And that felt like betrayal.
Her name was Sandhya.
Yes, weird name for a cat. People laughed when they heard it. Some assumed she was named after a distant aunt or one of my mom’s strict school friends. Truth is way simpler and way more random. She earned that name.
Our house had these tiny corners where sunlight barely reached. She would disappear into them like a spy on a secret mission. In North Karnataka Kannada, a corner is called Sandhi. So, Sandhya it became. The cat of corners. Ruler of weird hidden spaces. Tiny domestic ninja.
We were a proper Brahmin household. Still are.
Which meant routines were sacred. I’d come back from school half tired half hungry. Bag thrown dramatically on the sofa. Shoes, somewhere they didn’t belong. Then the best part. Opening a packet of potato wafers from the legendary SLV Iyengar Bakery. #iykyk
The sound of that plastic was her alarm clock.
She would come sliding across the Bethamcherla granite tiles like race cars in Tokyo Drift. Straight into my lap. Just pure focus on the chips. Her eyes said only one thing. Share the chips or suffer, you hooman.
She loved those wafers more than life.
Technically, she was a non-vegetarian animal living in a very vegetarian house. Meat was a big no. So she built her own survival plan. Lizards. Tiny unfortunate wall residents. Sadly, that habit also became the reason she didn’t stay with us very long.
Funny how memory works.
I don’t remember the exact day she came home. I don’t remember her last day either. What stayed is one small scene frozen forever. Me sitting cross-legged. A half-torn wafer packet. And her sliding into my lap like she owned the world. Which, honestly she did.
Even today certain sounds mess with my head.
The zip of a travel bag. The crackle of plastic. For a split second, I still expect to hear a soft thud and a demanding meow. Phantom purrs are real. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
People judge me for loving cats so much.
Why not dogs, they say. Dogs are loyal. Dogs are friendly. Dogs behave like motivational speakers who live inside your house. And yes, dogs are amazing. No arguments there. They worship you. Follow you everywhere. Make you feel like the main character in a movie where you are always right.
Cats are different creatures entirely.
They don’t worship you. They evaluate you. They don’t obey. They negotiate. They test your patience daily and occasionally try to destroy your ego for entertainment. Then suddenly, without warning, they curl into your chest. Like you are the only safe corner left in their chaotic little universe. That moment hits harder than any dramatic love story.
Cats are assholes. Absolute drama queens.
But they humble you in ways you didn’t know you needed. They teach you to give love without conditions. Without contracts. Without constant validation.
Maybe that’s why I keep choosing them. Because they don’t promise anything. They just exist beside you. Quiet. Moody. Honest.
So yeah, between dogs and cats, I’ll always choose cats.
Even if they never choose me back in the same loud obvious way. And honestly that’s okay.
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