There are two types of visitors. The first type is the one who enters your home and makes it theirs. Then even if you would shove them out of the main door, they would re-enter through the kitchen window. For them you say: Fish and guests small in three days.”
I can only thank God that society has not blessed me with such visitors. The visitors I have, belong to the second category. They just happen to know when you need them. At that specific moment only does the doorbell ring. Then they go away. Just like that. But their presence remains.
There was one such day when i really needed a visitor. My house was stock full of supplies bought on a shopping spree waiting for one and I was in a bad mood and going through a bad day.
The bell did not ring. There was a gentle tap on the bedroom window. I opened it. My visitor looked up at me with big, blue, imploring, watery eyes. Even my worst mood could not resist that. The frown on my forehead straightened at once and my lips twitched in a smile. The hard look in my eyes gave way to a softer glow: the kind you would see in the eyes of a mother, or a lover…
I took her up in my arms. She was snow-white, with thick fur and a swishing tail. She purred, and rested her head on my neck. I was stupefied; won over. I patted her neck and gently taking her off myself, placed her on the window ledge. Then I stood evaluating her and she probably understood that.
I noticed a collar on her neck and took down the address. Next, I presented a bowl of milk to her. She lapped it up eagerly, looked at me gratefully, then bounded away through the same window.
My life grew interesting after that. Its monotony was broken by the regular interference of a feline creature who cuddled into me, gratefully consumed the milk and leftovers I offered her, then hopped, skipped, jumped out of my day.
I searched for the owners the best I could. I tried to trace their address, dial their contact numbers, but to no avail. Eventually, I reasoned with myself that they did not want her. And why should I turn down a gift from God Himself, which He sent to cheer up my day everyday?
There was a time allocated for her. She would be at my window at five every evening, and I would be waiting for her.
It was a Thursday when she did not appear. I peeped anxiously out of my window every few minutes. The clock struck quarter past five. She was not there. Half past five; still not there. At quarter to six, when I was slumbering by the window, I felt a gentle weight on my lap. I started up, and welcomed my dear visitor with a gasp.
Her leg had been badly wounded; probably run over by a bicycle. I bathed her wound, bandaged her leg, and offered her milk.
She did not bound away that day. She looked up at me and I wished she were human: her eyes spoke of a sadness that needed expression. She then dozed away on the kitchen mat.
Her wound worsened day by day. I took her to a vet; he declared her incurable. She stayed at my house.
One day, returning from office, I found her outstretched on the mat in front of the kitchen fire. Uninformed, unprecedented, involuntary tears streaked down my cheeks. I did not eat that day. I cradled her in my arms and buried my face in her fur. Then I buried her in the garden.
Life switched back to a monotony. It was not normal; no, it was not normal. But I coped. I managed. And there came a time when I could smile at her thought.
She was a visitor, who entering my home, entered my life. She did not come through the drawing-room door, as a guest. Nor through the kitchen window as a beggar. She came in my bedroom window: as family. A visiting family…