Coat, Cat and Cyrus
I am in school. The bell has rung. Everybody is rushing out.
And I am entangled in my coat.
First I put my right arm into the left sleeve. Then my left arm into the right. Realising the mistake, I pull one arm out and invert the sleeve. The next few seconds are spent in inverting sleeves, tugging, twisting, wondering why the coat is turning into a ball.
It seems to be tying itself as much as I am trying to unravel it.
Only with some help from a buddy do I finally get it right.
Buddy and I run towards the gate. I reach just before the buses do, and on my right I see a family of brown rabbits going like rabbits go — low, quick, intent.
At that moment my orange cat jumps out of the bus and starts rubbing noses with the rabbits.
She swishes her tail. She makes soft meows. With the grace of a foster mother, she takes a round of the silent but curious rabbits. No one runs. No one panics.
The buses are arriving.
I run to pick up my orange. She runs towards the gate and freezes under the bus. I manage to stop the bus and retrieve my cat. The driver leans out of his window and says, irritated,
“Idiot, who brings cats to school?”
I say, “She studies in class one.”
The rabbits have disappeared.
I wake up relieved, with that meow still in my ears.
My thoughts drift to another friend — Cyrus, the tricolour Beagle. Barely one year old. Mischievous, naughty to the hilt. Those sombre eyes, wide paws, and boundless energy. He could run at 30 kilometres an hour behind my car.
That morning, at 5 a.m., I had walked him on that empty road.
He went to the other side, sniffing what beagles sniff. A trundling truck came. He looked up and made a dash back towards me. The driver saw him and slowed, thinking the pup would make it across.
But the little boy froze.
The truck trundled on.
And it was my turn to freeze.
I awoke with a loud thud.
My chest was thudding. I saw the cat sleeping, oblivious. I remembered the remembrance, and went back to a troubled sleep.
It was suddenly dark.
There was a shadow on the roof, crawling — humanoid, like those mysterious ninjas, only worse, otherworldly. It was blacker than the darkness, darker than shadow itself.
It crawled above me.
It opened its ravening maw and pulled me by the arm.
Somehow, my arm had become supple. It lengthened, stretched, and pulled back with all my strength.
That is when I woke up for the third time.