Katie

Katie was a beauty, with tawny and black stripes on her body, her belly a snow white, her fur soft to the touch. She licked herself everyday to keep her fur clean of dirt. Her bright green eyes piercing steadily at us, radiating an aura of adherence, territorial and aggressiveness. She was gentle in her ways and steadfast in her principles

Katie was adopted into our family when the mice wanted to rule our household creating an uncontrollable chaos. Cat food was not available to us back then, so her meal consisted of dried fish and plain rice.

She might not be of pedigree breed like those Persians but her grace surpassed them all. Possessing a profound initiative to learn, she’d sit patiently on my desk observing my typing. Once I stopped, it was her turn at the typewriter. You could say Katie was only being playful but she never was. Maybe she was alone and had no playmates to share her funs and games with. She never run around chasing after falling leaves or amusing herself at the shrubs. She carried herself regally, observing life maturely and living it free of dominance.

Katie and I did not share that kind of bond she had with my brother. I do not remember hugging her nor did she like snuggling up to me. Whenever I tried ruffling her fur she snarled back. Let us admit, our birthdates do not match.

During the night, she’d creep up and settled comfortably at my brother’s feet. At 7am without fail, her meowing echoed throughout the house. It was time for her feed. If you ignored her calls, she’d climb on your bed, place her face closed to yours and screamed her throat dry until you satisfied her request. After her feed, she resumed her sleep and you’d be fully awake.

When it was time for her to meet her boyfriends, Katie’d disappear for days. When they came a calling, she never invite them for the night. If you thought you wanted to video tape their liaison, forget about it. She was prim and proper, and never for once let out that her estrogen had overflowed.

Even during her presence the rats still clowned around. You could hear them conferencing and scrambling across the ceiling. She never gave them a chase and they never dare to descend from the ceiling top. Just a meow from Katie and the rats would whisper with each other and tiptoed on their little feet. This was how Katie organized the rat community, like an army general. If a rat was unfortunate to get caught, she’d pawed it, let it made its escape, pawed it back, tossed it like a ball until it was exhausted and slowly breathed its last breath. Then she walked away and left us to bury the dead, without a bite.

Rats were not a delicacy for her, she did not share our penchant for rat meat, even the newly born rats which we believe possessed a medicinal purpose for treating internal injuries. She sniffed, wagged her tail, meowed and then turned away. A very stuffy cat.

When she noticed her claws are long and bothered her movements, Katie manicured them by scrabbling on the doorposts. Her scratches were so deep, they defaced the grains of the wood. Just do not raise your voice at her, she would growl back at you.

She could be very revengeful at times. No other cats, dogs or fowls ever dared to come near our house when she was around except for our neighbor’s pet dog, Rocky. Rocky was a well behaved and well mannered half Alsatian. He guarded both his owners and our house. He tried to win Katie over by hovering near her. She refused to extend her friendship by displaying her sharp teeth, her paws raised to claw him. Rocky tolerated her unfriendliness by withdrawing and keeping silent each time. Whenever I left some food for Rocky she would meow her disapproval. On one occasion when Rocky was gobbling down the food I offered him, I stretched out my leg to block her flight. Rocky managed to make a hasty escape. She boomeranged, clawed and took a nasty bite on my ankle. She hated both of us.

I was away when Katie met her death. It was a cruel and terrible death. Being aggressive she had fought with my aunt’s “mad” dog over territorial rights. He came over to our compound and Katie was not pleased about it. She gave chase and he being wild, refused to listen to my aunt’s pleads to leave. He advanced on her. Small in comparison, Katie was no match for him. He bit her neck and swung her from left to right. Her throat was wrenched and dangled from her neck. She died in great pain, in a pool of blood.

Katie left behind a daughter, Milly. Katie was dainty whilst Milly was a complete opposite, playful, impartial to her surroundings and very dependent for help. Katie was a good mother. She taught Milly how to live a cat’s life which Milly was totally helpless and ignorant. When her mother passed away, Milly disappeared for days and came back completely changed. She was mellow, quiet, desolate and so lost. She’d rest her paws and chin on the threshold of our front door, stared with sightless eyes outside, meowed occasionally, waiting for her mother to come home. Her mother never came back and she had a difficult time adjusting to a new life.

That was the end of Katie and memories of her live till today

Dirty Washrooms

It was unfortunate I had to visit the washroom at the General Clinic in the University Hospital recently. A patient had a bad bowel movement that morning. As the flush system was in poor working condition, the foul smell from the toilet permeated into the waiting room. Unable to tolerate it I informed the nurse at the counter. Her reply was that she dared not instruct the cleaner to clean the toilet for she would get angry and scold her. We had to suffer the smell till the cleaner made her next round.

We never fail to state our views about the condition of our public toilets in our newspapers, during our conversation with friends or keeping mum and brewing in our bellies. Whatever it is we do in our little ways contribute to the hygiene and tidiness of this amenity that is given to us.

Taking into consideration that the flush system was working fine, I do encounter visitors leaving their “droppings” in the toilet bowl. Although the first flush was unable to clear their “droppings”, I am perfectly sure they could use a little patience and a little effort to clean up their own mess before exiting their cubicle.

Sometimes we are not good at aiming, that was how toilet papers were found littering the floor of the stalls or near the dustbin. Another was the shoe marks left on the rims of toilet bowls. The visitor must have preferred to squat rather than sit or if the rim is dirty then she could have lined it with toilet paper before sitting to solve her problem.

The subject of washrooms are fun to record down. I had sweet and amusing memories of them while in China. And stories of them can stretch the length of a cloth.

Trading Places

What will you do if you woke up one morning to discover you are no longer yourself. Not your sanity but your identity.

The name you used to call yourself with does not belong to you anymore. Someone else has the right over it. Legally, you are a no one.

To go a little bit further, your biological parents, siblings, spouse, children, they can’t call you their own. So is your job, your EPF account, your bank accounts, your properties, and whatever you ever own on this earth. Very scary isn’t it. This lost of personal identification do happen, believe me.

Your birth certificate, your identity card and your passport may have stated you were that person whom you were before, but not now. A slight mistake made on your identity card by a staff from the National Registration Department may put you in big trouble. Just swap the face and thumbprints, and that’s it.

This is nightmarish but hope it is only an April Fool’s joke.

Choosing the right angel

Being bored is dangerous. You tend to do things you should not even think of when you are busily occupied.

Here I am one night running out of topics to surf. I was aimlessly browsing when I thought, why not check on the various religions in existence. That led me to the door of a satanic website. A click on the enter box would give me an insight into the realm of the supernatural. I was curious and I was tempted. Once inside could I ever leave this “Hotel California”?

With my decision made up, I was about to exit its front page when an eerie force invaded the atmosphere of my room. This uneasy feeling of not being alone was so strong, it injected an unexplained fear into me. It stood silently behind me. Patiently and yet menacingly. Gathering up my courage I looked over my shoulder. There was nothing behind me. It just refused to reveal itself. It was better that way anyway. But still I was crippled with fright. The intensity of fear reduced me to a point of emotional turmoil.

Closing my eyes, I bowed my head. Grasping my bible I began to pray. The power of prayer was so miraculous. It subdued my fear. Peace embraced me. I am not alone anymore.

Wherever we are, there is always someone behind us. Either it is our guardian angel or a demon, it is our wisdom to choose the right one.

One screw loose can cause fire in a person’s life

Two nights ago I noticed a slight flickering from my fluorescent lamp. Thinking that the filament was about to show its age, I decided to let it black out before replacing a new one. To my dismay, all the fluorescent lamps started to blink simultaneously at around 10 pm last night. Surprisingly the other household appliances were not affected. Even my computer which is particularly sensitive showed no sign of any electricity interruption.

On checking the electric meter at the main panel, we detected a clicking noise whenever the lamps blinked. No burnt smell was detected but still we were afraid if not attended to, a faulty wire could start a fire later on. I flipped off the circuit breaker to disconnect the current.

I wanted to delay until the next day to contact TNB but the night was hot and the mosquitoes were a nuisance. I placed a call to TNB at 15454 but was cut off during my first try. My second call was successful. The telephonist assured me the technicians would visit us later in the night. Within 20 minutes they arrived. To the technicians it was a small matter. To us, it is serious problem. A house on fire is not a laughing matter. It took them a few minutes to replace the cartridge fuse. Thanks to them everything is functioning well now.

The screw connecting the input cable wire to the fuse has became loosen. That had caused the interruption in the flow of electric current and the sparkling sound from the fuse. By night when the current load is at its highest, the heated aluminum wires had caused the rubber insulator to melt. This faulty wiring may cause the fuse to blow and catch fire.

The technicians recommended we changed the amperage rating from 60 to a higher capacity of 100 amperes if our electricity usage is high, to avoid any current overload. A good idea but 60 is just enough for our usage.

Dates, is it an acquired taste?

Just thinking of dates, conjured up a vision of a tall, tanned and handsome Arabian Prince astride a black stallion racing against the wind across the dusty desert. Dressed in a flowing white burnoose, a red-and-white checkered kaffiyeh fastend by a black cord on his head, flapping behind him, he looked so magnificent. He leapt from his horse and strode over to the tent under a cluster of palms. Trays of dates of different favors within his reach as he lounged comfortably on the colorful embroidery pillows strewed all over the luxurious Persian carpets on the floor.

Of course, it would be rude not to accept the delicious dates he offered me. As I popped one into my mouth, savoring its wonderful taste, its sweetness slowly found its way down my throat, he gave me that devastating smiles. Wow, he looked so much like Alain Delon. Ark! I was choked. Not by his good looks, certainly not by the pit but by the hard skin of the dates. The image of my dashing prince vanished like a genie.

That is why I don’t like dates. Its hard skin always lodge in my throat.

We get to sample dates in abundance during the Moslem fasting month. I find the dried ones too sweet. The hard, brittle skin hurts my throat, so I usually spit it out and ravish the soft fresh. The fresh ones are equally bad. It is hard, bitter and bland. It is very hard to get the sweet ones.

With its high sugar content, dates are definitely a not recommended fruit for a diabetic. It nutritional benefits includes protein, fat, fiber, minerals like copper, sulphur, iron, magnesium, potassium and fluoric acid.

It was recorded in the Qur’an that when she was conceiving the Lord Jesus, Mother Mary was told to eat dates. "Shake the trunk of the palm tree towards thee: it will drop fresh, ripe dates upon thee. Eat, then, and drink, and let thine eye be gladdened!" (Qur'an 19:25-26) .

Looking at the display of numerous brands of Kurma dates at Carrefour, I was undecided with my choice. I wanted to present a box to Mrs Sidek, my landlady. A Malay man was standing besides me. Thinking he could help me, I turned to him for advice. “Which brand is the best?” “It is an acquired taste” and he moved away.

He did not give me an answer for he was undecided too. Taking up a box, read its contents then picked up a different brand and repeated his action. He may have eaten more dates than me, yet he was also lost. Helpless, I told myself, go for the most expensive.

Although the most costly may not be the best, through advertisements and human influences, the most popular is the best. If you like its taste, it is the best. To each his own. Acquired taste? Not to me, acquired choke is more likely.

Plough the Land

The climate in Malaysia has changed since. It is normal to rain in the mornings, fiery hot in the afternoons. When it is time for bed, the nights are so warm, it is difficult to sleep. Couple with the mosquitoes, it is hell’s night.

I did not get to sleep on Friday night, not a wink, all because of one menacing mosquito. Just one can cause havoc in a person’s life. What if it is a horde?

I really wanted to continue with my sleep came morning but my mom and I had to meet up with my nieces for lunch in Pudu. As usual I was running late. A diehard habit of defying punctuality is scheduling my itinerary to the last minute.

The traffic jam started from USJ 3 and stretched to Guinness Stout. Accident la, I told my mom. The police had set up a roadblock. I did not know why until I read in the papers that the Hindu Rights Action Force (Hindraf) would be holding a demonstration at the British High Commission tomorrow. “They are filing a suit against the British Government for bringing in Indians as indentured labourers to Malaya and exploiting them.”

Seems like it is a trend to hold rallies and demonstrations in Malaysia nowadays. First the Malays and now the Indians. What about the Chinese. We do not want to be kiasu too. To whom are we to direct our grievances. On what topics we should raise. Ha, perhaps, we can sue the Chinese government for sending our forefathers as servants to accompany the Ming Princess, Hang Li Po to Malacca to marry Sultan Mansor Shah.

The Beijing government have strong principles, unmoving beliefs and stern actions. I can imagine them echoing our ancestors, “Money, I am not giving you a cent, but you come back and help us plough the land”.