Hello. My name is Piku. You may refer to me as Her Majesty, but my Human just calls me his “miracle.”
My official job title in this house is Head of Household, but my duties are varied. I am the Chief Entertainment Officer, the 5 AM alarm clock (no snooze button, sorry), and, most importantly, the resident Anxiety Specialist.
But it wasn’t always this way. My life didn’t start in this warm, sunbeam-filled house.
It started in a way I would not like to reminisce on much. It was dark, and cold, and I was very, very small. There were others with me—my mother, my siblings. But one by one, they all went… quiet. The world became a very scary, very silent place. I was the only one left, a tiny scrap of fur and fear. I didn’t know why I was alone, only that I was. I later heard the Humans use a terrible word: “poisoned.”
I had given up. And then, he found me.
My Human.
He scooped me up, and even though I was a mess, He held me like I was the most precious thing in the world. He whispered, “You made it. You’re mine now.” I was tiny, but I made a big decision right then: This nervous, warm Human was my Human. He clearly needed me to run his life.
And I’ve been running it ever since.
My Human says I “keep him on his toes,” which I think means I’m excellent at my job. My favorite game is Hide-and-Seek. I am the undisputed champion. I will hide in the laundry basket, behind a curtain (my tail is not sticking out, that’s just your imagination), or inside a paper bag and sometimes sneak out and hide under cars. My Human will walk past me three, four, even five times, calling my name. The sheer thrill!
Then, when his back is turned… I POUNCE.
He screams. Every single time. He clutches his chest and says I’ve given him a “mini heart attack.” I call it “surprise affection.” It’s vital work. If I don’t pounce on him, how will he know I love him? And more importantly, how will he remember to stay alert?
But my most important role is being his guardian.
My Human sometimes gets… buzzy. His breathing gets fast, and He looks at the walls like they’re telling him bad stories. He calls it “anxiety.” I call it “unacceptable.”
This is when I deploy my secret weapon. I activate my high-decibel purr-motor and climb directly onto his chest. I press my head against hsi chin and refuse to move. I am a 10-pound, furry, vibrating paperweight of calm. I purr and knead until the buzzing stops, his breathing slows down, and his hand starts doing its job (which is, of course, petting me). He says I’m his sole companion in those moments. I just know he can’t overthink when he’s busy admiring me.
I’m not just a hero in my own home, though. I’m a professional.
Sometimes, my Human takes me on a “special mission” to the V-E-T. He tells me I’m very brave and that I’m “saving lives.” Apparently, my blood is special. It’s like liquid-gold-hero-juice. I donate it to help other cats who are very, very sick. I don’t love the car ride, but I lie still and am very brave, because my Human says I’m giving other kitties a chance to find their Humans, just like he found me.
I am Piku. The one who survived. I am a blood donor, a hide-and-seek champion, a giver of mini heart attacks, and a full-time healer. I am not just a pet. I am a beloved family member.
And as I look at my Human, who has finally settled down to read, I hop onto his lap. The buzzing has stopped. He is calm. My work here is done.
For now.
Pranav K Gharge
Community Manager at Cubee3D