Wednesday, 29 January 2014

Snippets from Scaredy Cat's memory

Scaredy Cat. Not my name lah. Actually, don't bother to give me any name. Mao Mao, Meow Meow... You can call all you like. I will respond when I feel like it, hope that's ok with you? 
ACTUALLY, that's not my name. But my mistress likes to call me that, and pronounce it Scare-Re-Dy. Oh well, what's in a name. And just because I howled a little when a group of humans entered the house. I fled to the toilet because... well... I'm not sure why. It's instinct I guess.

Tell you the truth, I'm not comfortable with strangers these days. It comes with age I guess. I am now over a year old. Grown up.  I used to be fearless. For example, when I was about eight months old, I walked into this house like it's my "grand chogong's house" -- grandfather's house. And that's how I got adopted.

Before that, I don't really have much memory. Cat's memory is selective, in case you don't know. Anyway, my new master always thought I had strayed from a loving Malay family -- because I seemed to respond to words like "tidor" (sleep). My new master is a Cantonese and tried talking to me in this dialect. Er, not really my language.

Watching a video of myself at my former master's place.

I loved to jump around, take walks and chase birds -- and still do. One day, I was over enthusiastic about a couple of mynahs chirping at the window's ledge. And fell from the 10th floor, landing on the 5th floor's parapet. I dug my claws on to the concrete to prevent myself from falling further. I heard my master calling me from the window as he hurried away to get help. His neighbour from the 3rd floor lowered down a cat bag -- with some tidbits in it. Ah food, never refuse a good offer. And before I knew it, I was pulled up to safety, with a bit of cat food stuck on to my whiskers. They were kind enough to let me finish the last morsel. I was a little subdued over the experience. The next morning, I limped around a bit to get more sympathy. But soon, the whole episode was pushed to a far corner in my little cat brain.
Hark, who calls?

I was having a great time. Meowing in excitement over nothing, and jumping around furniture. I loved to play with my master's mouse and push my long tail in his face at the computer. That's when I got sent off to my current mistress' home. She's the sister. I protested like mad in her car -- all the way to my new home. I even hyperventilated. She kept telling me to "tidor". But I am afraid I don't know what that means. I yowled the whole night. The next morning, I was taken to the vet for a minor op. I vaguely heard the vet asking my mistress whether I was going to be a "kept" cat. If not, I would have one of my ears snipped at the tip. I heard the reply, something like "I guess so..."

It was over before I knew it. My new mistress took me home in the afternoon. I was too sleepy to protest over another car ride.

So now I live in an "apartment" -- not telling you whether it is a private apartment or HDB -- for good reasons. I continue to jump around but these days, I seldom come in contact with strangers, nor those birds which I love to chase so much. Sure, there were lots of things to chase on the floor -- crackling and rustling look-alike birds, mice, fish, and balls with tails. I like the balls with tails best. They are light and can be flung around to hit furniture legs.

BTW, I like doing this in the middle of the night, and in the early morning. If I am really irritating enough, I get tidbits to keep me quiet. But I learnt that if I do it too much, especially in the wee hours of the night, my toys get confiscated. So, you know, best not to push your luck too much.

Don't disturb, please.


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