Chapter 3: Decision on the Local Train

Is it really that serious?

On my way home on the local train, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Maybe my cat is cunning, but it’s never actually hurt me. I couldn’t decide, so I figured I’d go home and see for myself.

Pressed between two uncles smelling of Axe body spray, I clutched my bag and tried not to step on anyone’s chappals. The train screeched into Dadar, and I made my way through narrow lanes, past shops blaring Bollywood hits and the ever-present smell of frying vada pav.

As soon as I got home, the cat jumped off the sofa, circled me once, and—just like always—went back to lie on the sofa.

It does this little performance, as if it’s doing me a favour by acknowledging my existence. Sometimes I really think it believes it’s the owner, and I’m just the pet.

I took out my phone, pretended to scroll Instagram Reels, but kept sneaking glances at it from the corner of my eye. I noticed it was also sneaking glances at me, but since I was using my phone’s camera, it didn’t realise I was watching.

My hands shook a bit, and my heart thudded in my chest. For a moment, I wondered if it could sense my fear.

That look it gave sent a shiver down my spine. It seemed to be checking if I’d seen the surveillance footage. Too clever, this one.

Seeing I wasn’t giving anything away, it relaxed gradually.

It began grooming, licking its paw with exaggerated innocence, though its tail kept twitching. As if, deep down, it didn’t trust me either.

But inside, I was torn. If I kept this cat, would something really go wrong?

My mind was running wild. Should I do what Rohan said, or trust my own gut?

After some thought, I started packing up its litter box and other things. The cat immediately sensed something was up, jumped off the sofa, and pressed against me, mind racing. I could feel its anger—the fierce look in its eyes, like it wanted to finish me.

It pressed against my legs, tail stiff, making a low sound—more growl than meow. I froze, not daring to move.

Then, suddenly, it turned gentle, coming over to lick the back of my hand. Ragdoll cats are beautiful anyway, but when they look up at you with those big, pleading eyes and act cute, your resolve starts to crumble.

It tilted its head, eyes wide and watery, like a lost kitten from a Bollywood movie. I actually felt guilty for a second.

It rolled over, showing its belly. For a second, my hand twitched, tempted to trust the act. But Amma’s voice echoed—never trust a billi’s narmi.

That fluffy white belly could be a trap. Rohan’s warning rang in my head, so I held back. Under all that softness, I knew there was a mind sharper than a lawyer’s.

No doubt, it would hold my intent to abandon it as a grudge—forever.

My dadi always says, “Billi ka badla toh bhagwan bhi nahi taan sakta.”

Remembering Rohan’s advice, I realised I shouldn’t be too obvious. I petted its belly and pretended to just be cleaning the litter box. After finishing, I put everything back in its place.

I forced myself to hum an old Kishore Kumar tune, pretending all was normal. My hands were sweaty.

The cat watched me with suspicion, but obediently returned to the sofa.

Its eyes stayed fixed on me, tracking my every move—like it was taking notes for later.

Still debating, I thought maybe I’d call Rohan for help. Feeling low, I went to cook dinner on the gas stove.

The moment I finished, I heard a miserable scream from the other room. I rushed in and found the cat lying on its side, howling in pain. Its paw had been pierced by a drawing pin on the floor.

The howl was so sharp, my neighbours must’ve thought I’d stepped on its tail. My heart leapt into my mouth. The pin was stuck deep, blood welling up. My mind went blank.

I rushed the cat to the animal hospital. After treatment, the doctor let it rest in a cage and asked, “How did this happen? Is your cat not very smart?”

Sweat trickled down my back as I tried to explain. The doctor, Dr. Sen—a young Bengali—adjusted his glasses and gave me that look—like the principal about to call my parents.

I frowned. “No, my cat is really smart.”

Dr. Sen pursed his lips, scribbling something in his file in that classic doctor style.

He continued, “Then I suggest you have it checked out. Cats are quick—even if they step on a drawing pin, they’ll jump away instantly. It shouldn’t get stuck so deep.”

He shook his head. “Such a deep wound… very odd.”

Suddenly, he fixed me with a serious stare. “Sir, be honest—have you abused your cat? If you don’t like it, I can help arrange adoption.”

I stared back, shocked. “No, no, never!” But guilt tangled with relief—like when you skip a puja but nothing bad happens. Amma’s voice echoed in my head, ‘Don’t even think of abandoning that poor thing!’

I shook my head, insisting I’d never hurt it. Still, dread crept in. The drawing pin had been dropped by the cat itself. It knew I was planning to abandon it, so it staged this whole drama. Could it be a trick—self-inflicted injury?

Suddenly, everything Rohan had said made sense. My cat was manipulating me.

I slowly opened my home surveillance footage…

My hands trembled as I logged in. The waiting circle spun slowly, like the build-up to a movie climax.