I buried my eleven years old fat calico cat one August evening in 2024. Her name was Nihawiparmawii. I did not come up with the name nor did I like it overmuch. She had once belonged to an old lady in Sikulpuikawn. But the woman could no longer house her because I think her house was already overrun with cats. My sister’s friend asked if we could home her. I said no. My sister said yes. So we brought her home in a cardboard box one cold, rainy winter afternoon in 2013. The woman was sad to give her up and asked that we retain the name. I thought the name was ridiculous but I agreed.
It is human to name their pets. But all cat owners know cats don’t really respond to their human-given names. Besides, how do you even call anyone Nihawiparmawii? So I cut it short to Nix. And Nix she remained. Nix knew her name. She was one of the few cats who actually responded to the name. When she deigned to, of course.
Nix bonded with me easily. If you asked me proof of cats having nine lives, I'd point you to Nix. She fought odds and won. Until the end, she was loving and sweet. Very definitely she was cantankerous and dramatic, too, but she was so pretty we always forgave her. She liked big fishes, hated small fish and would never touch smoked fish. She liked maize and wet cat food. She grew so fat her last couple of years that people often thought she was pregnant. She even started resembling a fat-bellied koi fish from the top. She liked to purr and rest her warm paws and belly on my thighs.
The day I placed her in the coffin my dad made and my mum placed laces on, her paws were ice cold. It broke my heart. In the eleven years I’d known Nix, I’d never known her to have cold paws. Her paws were always pink and warm. Sometimes, when I was wearing shorts and she slept on my legs and she finally got up, her paw prints would leave an imprint on my thighs. I always loved that.
Nix changed houses thrice in her life. She was always enraged every time that happened. In all times, my sister was the one who placed her in boxes. As a result Nix never trusted her. Me, she trusted and loved though. From the first day home, she followed me everywhere. When I wouldn’t let her sleep in my bed, she’d climb on my mosquito net and nest there; it was just easier to give in and allow her bed space. She’d follow me to the bathroom every time I went in to take bath and inspect all the water she’d find there with curiosity. One day I decided to give her a bath. She didn’t know what to expect so I could manage. But never again. I don’t know if you’ve ever been scolded by a cat. If you have, you’d understand too exactly what they meant. We came to a truce. No one ever gave her water baths again, but she would remain impeccably clean the rest of her life. I guess I remain the only human who gave her a water bath in her 11 years alive; let's just call it a feat of love on both our parts.
Nix was my little fat and angry Sunflower. It is funny to reflect on how we didn’t speak the same language but over time learned to communicate anyway. Mostly with her getting angry and me giving in. It feels wrong and empty to come home and not have her greet me at the door. She always had a lot to say. I’d have liked more days of her losing her temper with me. But I count myself blessed she chose me as her human. I’ll hope to see her again beyond the rainbow bridge.
The sky shed tears over her grave the day I buried her, the same as it had sent showers of blessings the day I brought her home to me. Maybe it was the same rain.
Nix, b. Monsoon 2013, d. 6th August, 2024
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