A Scaredy-Cat

by Sreelekha Chatterjee

Whenever a tomcat passes by my house, the fish in my aquarium gasp at the surface, swim frantically, crashing at the bottom and rubbing on gravel. I wish to confront him, but his nails and canine teeth weaken my resolve. Remaining vigilant, I keep a watchful eye on his whereabouts, and finally, one day I notice the cat moving up the stairs.

Armored with my feminine prowess, I try to shoo him away, but he drops to his forepaws as if he has witnessed some kind of monstrosity, produces a weak meow unfamiliar to his accustomed snarl, hides behind the rails of the stairs—a few steps above my floor—like an alert army man observing me by taking cover behind a sandbag barricade.

Transfixed by his gaze, I experience uneasy ripples in my mind, trying hard to untangle a stubborn knot in a rope, attempting to work out the unwanted reality of the day, as I am reminded of my middle-aged, big-fish, authoritarian neighbor—who occupies the top floor of my building, along with his equally domineering wife and two cocky, obstreperous teenage sons—and his inappropriate behavior on seeing my young teenage girl; his refusal whenever we wish to visit the common terrace to check our water tank or fix our TV antenna; his noisy, late-night parties; his returning home at the middle of the night as a no-good drunkard creating a ruckus while parking his car in the parking area; his threatening, indignant remarks to do how he pleases irrespective of others’ inconvenience with occasional outbursts of cynical rage and shamelessness that keep swelling in the absence of mouthed protests from other neighbors who are already browbeaten into accepting his ways and prefer to be mute spectators; and last but not the least, his unlawful construction work on the common terrace of which he demands to be the sole owner.

I wonder where all this would lead to when the cat starts hissing with an arched back, flattened ears, and twitching tail, then growling with mouth open and teeth exposed—empowered with feline ferocity—as he moves down the stairs, passes by my floor, with diabolical eyes set on me, as I now—instead of a brouhaha—let out a mild whimper, make believe to be shielded inside my securely fastened iron-net door.