For as long as I can remember, a part of my heart ached for something I was told I could never have: a cat. Being Jains, cats needed a non-veg diet, thus it was a strict no-no. My family’s rules were firm, and while I understood, the longing for a feline companion never faded. I would watch other cats from afar, a silent observer of their grace and independence, and a part of me always felt a little incomplete.
I still remember that night, the night air, usually crisp and clear, was thick with the scent of marigolds and the haze of firecrackers. It was the first day of Diwali, and the entire neighborhood was aglow. Every house was a constellation of flickering diyas, and the sky above was a canvas of explosive colors. My own home was no different; the warmth of the celebrations seeped through the windows, and I went to feed community cats and celebrate Diwali with them. I suddenly heard a faint, trembling sound, a whimper lost in the celebratory cacophony. I stopped, straining my ears, my heart thumping a little faster. It sounded so fragile, so terrified. Following the sound, I found myself standing next to a cluster of overflowing garbage bins. The smell was sharp and unpleasant, a stark contrast to the festive aromas. I peeked inside the nearest one, and there, huddled in a corner among crumpled paper and discarded wrappers, was a tiny, trembling ball of fur. A kitten. It was shivering, its tiny body shaking uncontrollably not just from the cold but from fear. Its eyes, wide and luminous in the dark, were fixed on me, a mixture of terror and desperate hope. A loud firecracker went off, and he jumped on my shoulder.
I scooped him up, and in that moment, everything changed. He didn’t struggle or panic. Instead, he scrambled up my arm and buried his face into my neck, his little body trembling against my skin. It was an unspoken conversation. He trusted me completely, and my heart, without a single thought, made a promise to him. I couldn’t leave him there. I simply couldn’t. I smuggled him home, his tiny weight a secret on my shoulder, not daring to let my family know just yet. I bathed him, gave him some warm food, and watched him curl up in a box, a sigh of relief escaping his tiny lungs. He was safe. For now.
The frantic phone calls that followed were gut-wrenching. Shelter after shelter advised me to leave him back where I found him. “That’s his territory,” they’d say. “His mother might return.” But how could I? I had looked into his eyes and seen not just a stray, but a soul. I couldn’t bear to leave him to the mercy of the streets again, not when I had held him and felt his trust.
My heart won over my head, and I went to the one person I thought was impossible to convince—my dad. With tears in my eyes and a trembling voice, I begged him for a few days, just until we could find him a new home. He saw the fire in my soul, the love that had already taken root, and he finally said yes. We named him Peppa, and he, with his mischievous antics and surprising wisdom, didn’t just stay for a few days. He stayed forever. He didn’t just find a home; he found a family. He didn’t just come to us; he adopted us. We made special arrangements to feed him Non-Veg diet to ensure he gets the required nutrients and is healthy, while our Jain principles do not get affected.
Since it was Diwali when he was rescued, we also needed to take care of a few things like an enclosed room, a place where he could hide when sounds were too loud outside.
And now that dad agreed for him to be home forever, we had to net the house so that he doesn’t slip out of the balcony. Getting some play toys and cat tree so that he could have a space of his own.
But even as Peppa became a fixture in our lives, another part of my heart belonged to a cat I had been feeding for years. Her name was Demi, and she was the first cat I ever truly cared for, the one who had opened the door to this entire world for me. I had always ached to bring her home, but the thought of a second cat was a battle I knew I couldn’t win. Demi remained a beautiful memory, a love story put on hold.
A year after Peppa had found his way to us, the monsoon rains came again, and with them, devastating news. Demi was terribly sick. This time, there was no hesitation, no doubt. I brought her home. I held my breath, worried about how my precious Peppa would react to a new feline in his territory, but he shocked us all. He just… knew. He didn’t hiss, he didn’t run. He seemed to understand that Demi belonged here, too. She, in turn, settled in instantly, as if she had been waiting for us all along.
And that’s how my family became whole, not by a grand plan, but by two little accidents that were, in fact, the most perfect gifts I could ever receive. They are my monsoon drops of joy, my unexpected teachers of love, and the two little beings who finally filled the space in my heart. My life isn’t just about me anymore; it’s about our love story, written in paw prints all over the house.
Writer
Monish Dinesh Visaria
Product Manager – Freelancer