No News Is Definitely Bad News...

... and there's been no news of Pikey for almost 2 months now. We've informed our neighbors, put up fliers, visited the neighborhood animal shelter. I had pinned my hopes on the shelter because Pikey didn't have a tag or a collar and if someone had found her, that's where she would be.
There were lots of cats. Lots of black cats. But none with Pikey's sweet face. None who was 8 years old. None who meowed happily on seeing me and Rohan. So we went back to the car. I buckled Rohan to his seat, sat down behind the wheel and bawled.
There's nothing else for me to do.

Pikey The Explorer

This Saturday, it will be 2 weeks since we last saw Pikey The Cat.
It's been a long 2 weeks.
Since then, we've wept, called out her name endless times, walking our front yard and back yard.
We were hopeful, at first. Even though the longest Pikey had been out was one night. Always the next morning, we would see her black funny face at our backdoor, meowing piteously, waiting to be let in so that she could run upstairs to our bed, cuddle on soft sheets and take a blissful nap.
When we didn't see her the next morning, we went looking, sure we would hear her meowing behind a garbage can or underneath the car parked on the driveway. When we'd looked and looked, we figured she was hiding somewhere waiting for the dark to make her way home. You see, while Pikey acted like a tiger on the prowl at night, during the day, she was just an itty bitty scared kitty.
So we waited that night. And waited. We checked the back door many times before finally falling asleep. Called out a few more times. Tried not to think of the coyotes the neighbors had seen nearby a few weeks ago. The first tears began to fall.
Of course we didn't tell Raina about our fears.
We told her that Pikey was off on a big adventure, exploring just like Dora.
Rohan thankfully is too small to miss her. Even though he was the one who adored her the most, followed her around like Mary's little lamb. She rarely minded it, often plopping down right next to him, so that he could pat her gently or tug at her tail.

As the days passed, the tears began to fall faster.
P and I recalled the many times Pikey had made us laugh in the 8 years she'd been with us. Recently, she'd made us angry more often than not. Bringing mice home. Clawing the new handmade rug. We'd been impatient with her, complaining about the black hair all over the house that she'd shed. Maybe she decided she'd had enough, P said.
I pointed out to him that through it all, Pikey still slept right on top of him at night. Or next to him. Somewhere within touching distance. That she still got attention in the evenings once the kids were in bed. Pikey time, we called it. She'd plop on a cushion on our laps and get caressed to her heart's content. Then off she'd go to the backyard, and from there to the canyon beyond, hunting mice, doing what cats do.
But when it was time for bed, we'd call out to her and she'd often come running back.
So we've put up some posters in our neighborhood. If anyone's seen a black cat with yellow eyes, skittish but affectionate and very, very loving, please call.
Deep in our hearts, we're still hoping. We see her everywhere, a black blob in the closet shelf, in the shadows of the house at night. But for now, the food and water bowls have been put away.

American Born Confused Desi Cat

So Raina and I were conversing today while I was folding laundry. I was reminding her that her friend "I" was going to have a baby brother soon. Ergo, we wouldn't be going to NY for a while to see them.
Me: "Aunty is having a hard time figuring out what to name I's new baby brother."
Raina: "I know the perfect name! She should name him 'Sock.'"
Me: "'Sock'?!"
Raina: "Yeah, I like that name."
Me: "I think Aunty wants him to have an Indian name, like I."
Raina: "And like you and me and Rohan and daddy..."
Me: "Yes. All of us have Indian names. Except Pikey (the cat). Poor Pikey. We should have given her an Indian name too."
Raina: "Let's give her an Indian name!"
Me: "We could give her an Indian middle name. Do you have any suggestions?"
Raina: "Parvati. I think we should name her Pikey Parvati."
Me: "I think I'll call her 'Paro'."
Pikey Parvati, you're officially an ABCD cat now.

Nick Knack

Tagged by Choxbox (choxbox.blogspot.com) to mention the nicknames we call the kids. Nope, not talking about the Unborn One yet; he's mostly still The Baby. I am talking about Pikey The Cat and Raina The Pookie. It's no use pointing out to us that Pikey's not our kid -- she may not have been our first experience in childbirth, but she definitely gave us a taste of childrearing.

We got her when she was 3 months old, and she sat on my lap and meowed all the way home. Once there, she quickly settled in which was obvious by the speediness with which she began making demands -- for lap time, scratch time, play time. Each demand would be underlined by a corresponding meow, which we quickly learned to decipher. Short, staccato meows meant "I'm hungry"; long drawn out meows meant "I really really want something, and you better get it quick otherwise I'm going to scratch the sofa." So it's not surprising that she was nicked The Meow Cat. Pikey itself was a nick for the stately Pilcrow (you know, the paragraph mark on your word doc on the computer).

Other nicks that quickly followed: Pikeymon, Pikery, Peekaroo, Pikeysan, Mikey, Mouse (she's scared of everything, including mice), Silly Billy (billy means cat in Hindi). She answers to them all.

OK, Raina's turn. When she was born, P began calling her The Bug or Bugga because of her big lamplike eyes and teeny nose. I'd call her Smilu and Cheeky for her obvious attributes. Innocuous enough, but the nicks have deteriorated since.

I now call her Cheekoo, Cheekoodee, Pookie (further bastardizing the nick Raina Pooh), Pookeymon, Pookers and sometimes, Pooky Friend (from her favorite Halloween tee with a graphic of "Spooky Friends" which she would mispronounce as Pooky Friends).

But I can't top P, who often calls her Altu (as in Altu-Faltu, meaning useless in Hindi), her baby brother's Faltu and the cat Paltu (pet in Hindi). And then sometimes he calls her "Boogers" -- as in yucky dried snot. What can I say? The man's a creative genius.

Introducing Detective Herculee Pikerot

Detective Herculee Pikerot's green eyes gleamed with a strange light. After much exercise of her uncommonly few grey cells, the criminal had been deduced. It had been no easy work. The crime had been executed to near perfection. After all, it was easy for mere mortals to be taken in by the innocent demeanor of My Little Pony. But the cunning pony had reckoned without the superior intellect of Detective Pikerot. Now Scotland Yard was on its way. All that remained was to hand over the suspect. But how to detain said suspect until the Yard arrived -- tardily, as usual? Pikerot's majestic moustache quivered. In the end, there was only one method.