Chapter 5: Moti, the Village Headache

I am a cat—Dadi’s Billu.

The nasty man who unleashed his silly dog was finally handed over to the police. The constable who came wore slippers and chewed paan, and everyone gossiped about how even Sharma ji’s son was taught a lesson by an old lady and her cat. Dadi never tried to send me away again.

To reward my bravery, Dadi made a big Rohu fish for me.

Kittens aren’t always into fish, but Dadi was convinced I’d love it.

The kitchen clock ticked above the chulha, and the smell of roasting jeera filled the air. I curled up by Dadi’s side, listening to her chatter.

“That boy’s so heartless. A kitten like you could’ve lived in luxury in the city, now you’re stuck eating village food with this old lady.”

She ran her hands through my fur, her palms smelling of turmeric and coconut oil. I purred, pretending to listen, as she wiped away a quick tear with her pallu. “Still, you’re better company than those TV serials.”

“Meow meow.”

“Old Sharma loved cats. If he hadn’t gone so soon, he’d be so happy to see Billu now.”

“Meow.”

Whenever she called my name, I’d flick my ears back.

The yard was peaceful, just Dadi and me, and the guava leaves rustling in the warm wind.

A koel called from somewhere, and the kitchen clock ticked away, echoing in the lazy afternoon. She kept talking, “Billu, from now on, you’re Dadi’s Billu.”

But suddenly, she went quiet.

Something didn’t sit right.

She pondered. “Dadi’s… Billu?”

She slapped the stove. “No! This name is too childish for this old lady!”

I was startled, wide-eyed, and meowed in protest.

She looked me up and down. “You’re so white—let’s call you Moti. My surname is Singh, so you’re Singh Moti.”

She drew a tiny tilak on my forehead with her turmeric-stained finger and declared, “Ab tu Singh Moti hai!”

My new name carried all of Dadi’s hopes.

She said pearls are precious, so I was her confidant.

She wiped my face with the corner of her dupatta, muttering, “Ab toh tu Singh Moti ban gaya, samjhi?” But honestly, I became her number one headache.

Every morning, Dadi would go to the chicken coop for eggs.

But the eggs kept vanishing.

Today was the worst—the coop was empty. Not a single egg.

Dadi and I stared each other down.

She demanded, “Was it you who stole the eggs?”

She squinted so fiercely my fur nearly stood on end.

How can a kitten’s mischief be called stealing? At most, it’s pilfering!

It’s all the hens’ fault—they’re constipated!

I rolled around at Dadi’s feet, pawing her salwar and flashing my fluffiest belly.

I rolled my eyes and gave the cutest, tiniest meow.

But this time, it didn’t work.

She scolded me for greed and ordered me to stand under the tree, waving her belan like a true boss.

But no matter how fierce, she never actually hit me.

I never dodged, because I knew Dadi would never hurt me.

She’d stomp back in to knit, ignoring me no matter how much I meowed.

So I sat on the windowsill, pretending to sulk, but soon snuck into the chicken coop.

The hens saw me as their sworn enemy, flapping wings and jabbing their beaks at my tail.

The hens charged like angry aunties at a wedding buffet, pecking at my tail until I shrieked for Dadi.

“Meow ah ah ah ah!”

I can’t take it! I can’t take it!

Feathers and fur flew. I fought one against eight—four paws versus eight beaks.

Luckily, Dadi came banging a steel katori on the hens chasing me.

She scooped me up and scolded, “If you bully my Moti again, I’ll make you into chicken curry tonight!”

Hmph!

Eat some feed and act like you run the world, but mess with my Moti and you’re chicken curry! Garlic, ginger, masala—straight into the pot.

But Dadi cooled off and let them go.

I huddled in her arms, trembling, burrowing into her armpit like a scaredy-cat.

That night, I got delicious chicken curry.

Head covered in peck marks, I dove into my bowl, eating happily.

You never know how much you can eat until you really try.

Dadi kept piling food into my bowl. I took one bite, she added two more.

I ate for twenty minutes straight, and my bowl was still overflowing.

I was grief-stricken.

“Meow awoo!”

Dadi! Please, no more!

Dadi was shocked, scooping in another big spoon. “Look at you, so hungry you can’t even speak human anymore!”