My cat that liked potato chips

The five years before my migration to the land of opportunity were spent in the company of (among other creatures), a rambunctious feline of the Siamese descent, with a lot of personality, attitude and character. Her name - Simbo. Now Simbo was no ordinary cat, and I know most pet owners just like parents believe their cat, dog, hamster or for that matter iguana is like no other, but trust me when I say this, Simbo was not your everyday domesticated pet. She could beat up three cats at the same time, usually male cats twice her size and refused to mate with any cat of high pedigree. She hated to see me cry and kept hitting me with her paw until I stopped, She felt no shame in begging for food, even on a full stomach, and she never ever pooped in a dirty litter box and would never go if anyone was watching her. She showed happiness, anger, remorse in equal amounts. She would fight our German shepherd with so much zest for no apparent reason, perhaps to prove who is the boss, and poor Axle being the sweet dog and an eternal puppy always thought she was playing with him. She gave birth to one weird looking kitten every year that usually never survived past a few weeks, it was heart breaking to watch Simbo look for the ugly kitten afterwards, at all hours for the next few days, not eating or drinking, and last but not the least, she loved to eat potato chips. When I say love, I mean LOVE to the point of insanity. You so much as open a bag and she would jump out of nowhere to beg for her share. If she was lost Id go around crinkling an empty packet of Super Crisps, and sure enough she ran right up to me. One time my cousin, being the cheapskate that he is, was eating chips, showing them to her and putting them in his mouth. Suddenly, Simbo jumped on the arm of of the sofa he was sitting in totally freaking him out, much to my amusement of course, and started meowing sweetly. My cousin then told me that Simbo was an embodiment of how I would be if I had been a cat myself. I laughed out thinking that he is probably right.

Of course she did a lot of the things that other cats do, sit in fresh laundry, go crazy after fish and chicken, play with chords, thread and wool, get running attacks in the middle of the night, think the freshly ironed clothes are layed out just for her, follow the sunlight and sleep in it 60% of the day, hate getting her nails clipped or taking baths, get freaked out by hair dryers and vacuums, and don't even get me started on the days on heat.

The highlight of her career as a domesticated feline came when a mouse got into our house and was being hunted high and low by the many, many people who lived in our house (separate post on how my mom turned our home into a foster home of sorts). the mouse was in one particular room that had glass sliding doors. Five people in the room were searching for the wretched rat and my cat was just lounging around in one corner. Everyone was laughing at how disinterested she looked and that she is too old to know what is going on. After half an hour of unsuccessful hunt, everyone came out for a break and closed the door, with only the rat and a sleepy cat inside. As we were conferring about what should be done, suddenly we saw Simbo leap into the air to do a double somersault and land in the other corner. When she turned around, the mouse was in her mouth. Eat your heart out Jerry. Everyone cheered and eventually separated the dead mouse from her mouth. It was gruesome, yet I was so proud of my lazy old kitty.

One time she was lost for a week and I cried my eyeballs out, posting lost signs all over the apartment complex. One day a kid from the neighborhood informed us that he had seen my cat in another kid's house. He had kidnapped (or catnapped perhaps) her and was going to sell her off. I was enraged and walked over to the kid's apartment and rang the bell. The kid came out, I asked him about my cat and he lied that he knew nothing about her. From inside the house I could hear a cat meow, repeatedly. I pushed the punk aside and went in to find my Simbo in the kitchen, sitting next to an empty bowl, asking for food I believe (contrary to what I had perceived to be a cry for help). She recognized me and started circling around my legs. I glared at the kid and picked up my Simbo and walked out of the house.

The reason for this post (boring for the non-catlovers) is that I believe this to be Simbo's fifth death anniversary. Before coming to the US, I had given her to another family after my father refused to take care of her. I felt horrible walking away from her, but I knew it had to be done. Turns out a month later, she died for unknown reasons. I have no idea if she got sick or got run over by a car or perhaps she missed me so much that she stopped eating and just died of heartbreak. Yeah, I know that last option is a bit too dramatic to involve a cat, but they don't call me the drama queen for nothing.

RIP Simbo, I will always miss you. Thank you for the years of companionship. You lived life on your terms and did it with so much attitude that makes me believe....you were no ordinary cat. Enjoy the heavenly potato chips.