Happy New Year.

I make an annual attempt to resurrect this blog around New Years. So here is the 2012 version.

I don't want to jinx it, but this vacation has been excellent so far. Despite the many reasons for it not to have been.

My resolutions for this year are:

i) finish the last 40 pages of War and Peace

ii) start working my way through Shakespeare alphabetically. If I move at the rate one play a month I should be done with him in 3 years. Just as I enjoy knowing that I can name and locate every single country in the world (am still working on the capitals) I shall be happier after I know what happens in every single play. And just to be sure I shall make notes. As I do not think I shall be reading Richard II a second time, assuming I make it through a first time.

iii) be less lazy about writing. Academically, and otherwise.

iv) travel more on long weekends, instead of doing silly things like homework.

v) figure out how to keep a plant alive. I want a cat. But if I can't care for a plant the cat has no chance. This is a trial run. 2012 plant, 2013 cat.

vi) stop watching That 70's Show reruns. Enough is enough.

new house-new cat

so. it seems like the last few phases of my life have, thus far, been punctuated by different and distinctive feline presences.

in the first year at the ma there was the cat that snuck into my room every night and curled up on my pillow next to my head. then she had babies; one of whom had a preference for chocolate biscuits.

in the second year of the me, the orange, non chocolate consuming kit of the pillow-friendly cat moved with me to the next block. and was christened garfield (no i did not call him that to begin with, but he took to the name, and refused to respond to anything else). garfield liked to lurk at one end of the corridor, and race towards people as they stepped out of their rooms, then zig zag between their legs as they moved forwards, having to zig zag to avoid being stepped on. he also liked legs to stand still so he could rub against them. and was very selective about his food. he did not like to be fed fresh stuff, not even milk. it had to lie there, preferably in one of the hostel's many dustbins, before he would deign to look at it. to be able to allow my feet to pet him i set aside a pair of garfield socks, that i wore before letting him touch my feet. his bed was in the corridor distbin, and nothing could persuade him otherwise.

then there was a large black dat. who lived in a house with four other people, so was quitw spoilt. if you sat down for too long she would come and drape herself on you, and claw you for thinking abut shifting. i have often thought about her tail (most beautiful) wistfully, and want one just like it. would be so useful to use as a scarf, or fold up into a pillow.

andn ow i live ina house with a squashed faced patchwork black and orange cat. i donot know if it is a he or a she. and i don't think i'll get close enough to find out. he/she also sneaks in, but sleeps on the rug. and leaves as soon as i wake up. then returns when it thinks i should be asleep.

i wonder if this one will agree to being my friend

Bah

I can't remember the last time someone used the word chick in my presence as if it was legitimate word, to be used in public spaces without meaning to be ironic about it.

Why is femininity so often measured in the length of one's hair? This drives me crazy. And yet I wouldn't dare to brave my multifarious aunts and just chop the damn stuff off.

The resident cat is looking increasingly sharp about the ears. Does that happen to cats? Can their ears get pointier with age?

poocha prashanam: the cat question

One rather large, dappled cat has appropriated my bed.

Its a tiny room, and since September is still unreasonably warm we leave the windows open at night. There is a cooler- but it makes such a racket, and needs constant (ok maybe not so constant, but we are lazy) refilling.

Every morning I wake up to find a large and heavy furball at my feet. When I get up it does too, hisses at me and exits through the window. Never through the balcony door, which is also, always open. Why?

Now this cat is a rather wild one, given to hissing and hunting pigeons- which it does with great skill. There are feathers on the landing by mid-morning. It spends much of its time stalking about the corridors after dark, and yowling at the clothes that are hung out to dry. It can't be too clean as I have seen it foraging in the most questionable of areas. It doesn't look ticky. But how can I tell for sure? It arrives after I fall asleep and leaves when I get up. I must stop calling it 'It'. Maybe Orlando- as I have no way of telling whether he is a he or she is a she. Maybe Kiran- also nice and non commital. Maybe Princess Leia- it has delusions of grandeur. Maybe Jabba- as the Hutt is the unwieldy, slobbering, lecherous monster that this sleek, chic hunting machine is not.

What must I do? Should I let it be and thereby leave the window open for all sorts of mysterious cat-borne infections (my imagination runs riot)? Should I cart it, or rather metro and auto it to a vet in Khan Market? I can barely greet it in the day time, having to get it into a basket and be calm would be quite a task. And then the scene at the metro station:
-madam bag check karaiye
-bhaiyya iske andar billi hai. nahin khol sakti