I crumpled a peel off sticker as I walked towards the kitchen to make my breakfast. Suddenly, Mili started running ahead of me, looking back at me. She seemed to be anticipating something. It took me a second to realize that she was waiting for me to throw the ball of paper. It's a game we play with aluminium foil balls. Mili can't resist them; like a bullet that has been fired from the barrel of a gun, she darts off and doesn't stop until she has caught her prey.
Along the way, we have created many such traditions together — things that only the two of us understand — afternoon siestas with her paw touching the underside of my foot or her leg rested on mine, taste testing and approving new breakfast meat before I pack my lunch for work, me lounging on on the couch in our living room and Mili perched partly atop its backrest and partly on the window sil, enjoying the view outside — cars passing by, people walking, birds flying...
If there's anything other than aluminium foil balls that get Mili's motor running, it's birds. And flies and gesturing fingers. Anything that moves, really. Who could belive this was the same terrified critter that I'd brought home eight months ago.
The night I got her home, she didnt eat or sleep or mew. She just hid under the bed the whole time. Only after we left the room, did she muster the courage to climb up the bed and huddle in a corner. She was a four week old kitten and I, a four week old kitten mum. In my naivete, I fed her mashed bread and warm milk, and mashed rice with boiled chicken and pureed carrots. I watched as she struggled to eat, stomping on the mush more than eating it; as she explored her litter box — a takeout container — she was so tiny — and figured out how to use it; as she groomed herself, ensuring her pink tongue reached every crevice until she was squeeky clean; her insticts guided her and me, mine.
The first 10 days were a steep learning curve. I adminsitered the antibiotics to her and gently put the eye drops in her eyes. At first, it was a struggle but gradually, we learned, together. She fidgeted less and nestled right into my palms. I grew more confident, holding her with a firm grip yet ever so tenderly.
The hazing phase didn't last long and before we knew it, Mili was painting the town red. Clambering up the couch as best as her tiny paws and claws would let her, scampering about the house as if she belonged there all along, playfully nipping our toes and ankles and sometimes not so playfully — predatory instincts, we learnt, kick in quite early.
I too was growing into my role as a cat mum; after doing a bit of reading online and asking other cat mums, I bought kitten formula and a feeding bottle. Unfortunatley, I couldn't get her to latch and eventually gave up. Mili continued to be fortified with a steady diet of rice, fish and cat food. We also got her some toys — a stuffed dog toy to wrestle with, balls with bells in them, cat toy wands — which she enjoyed but I dare say not as much as a crumpled aluminium ball.
As the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, Mili grew beautifully. I watched her transform, harbouring mixed feelings; on the one hand, I was in awe of her blooming personality but on the other hand, I held on to the childhood that we had come to cherish together and that now, was slowly but surely slipping away.
