The legend of Pussan

Calling cats by their names is no doubt a difficult task. You may think I’m mad as the mad hatter to write about cats whom some of you abhor and aren’t interested in their ancestry

We had a cat of indeterminate ancestry, a kind of Tabby cat with dark brown stripes on a generally white background, with blazing blue eyes.

He mewed his way into our home, maybe discarded by his mother or maybe decided to run away from the rest of the pack. We couldn’t call him Jasper or Himansu or even duplicate Biden’s cat Socks in the White House so we called him Pussan which sounded like Russian.

My youngest son and Pusan jelled together like butter and Jam which both liked. But Pussan showed his early preference for fish at all meals. He would cock a snook at rice, veggies and curry and would be sulking for half a day outdoor as no pets were allowed into the dining room at mealtimes but Pusan’s preference was smuggled out very cleverly to ease his offended psyche.

Pussan relaxed and snoozed in the boy’s rooms calmly listening to the musical endeavours. His bushy tail which outdid any modern brush swayed to the rhythms or maybe he was circulating the air from his cushion.

Pussan grew round and tubby as well-fed cats always do for, he never ran to catch rats or cockroaches. Live and let live May have been his political policy. He was never curious as cats I presume are normally are. He was rarely game for a cuddle with strangers but would unexpectedly leap onto a lap which was shelling peas into a bowl

Pussan broke every human law of gravity by spending his leisure time if nothing more important was happening terra-firma by skimming up the mango tree to catch hapless sparrows, or the laws of levitation which even a Houdini couldn’t imitate.

Pussan defied any description of being a real cat. He was on friendly terms with Fluffy our Pom. Fluffy had not decided whether he was a dog or a goat for he was on reconciliation with my Bai’s goats. So Pussan joined the confederation of peace makers. Very often on hot afternoons one could see Fluffy at his afternoon siesta and Pussan cuddling by his fluffy side.

Pussan was a clean cat for he enjoyed wiping himself top to toe and enjoyed doing it

But the day dawned when my son left the homestead for greener pastures and Pussan felt orphaned for I had no time to cuddle him

To get him over his sulks we decided to send him to a place where he could meet his next of kin and may be have his fill of seafood. It had to be done and we cajoled him into the dicky and dropped him about 35 km away where there were plenty of thattu-kadas and many of his kind loafing around.

But the traffic roared and Fluffy danced a gig on his hind paws for in strolled Pussan, baggy kneed, one ear missing but the glare of his eyes was enough to his hegemony. He resumed licking his thumbs, and filled his feline gastronomy with a bowl of fish

But left forever when the Chinese crackers and fireworks was too much for him and maybe he had no sympathy for the Chinese infiltration. He left for a quieter world.