I looked longingly at the cat resting on the compound wall outside our sitting room. It had a peaceful look on its beautiful face, eyes half-closed, ears strained to every sound, swishing its twisted tail lazily, nonchalantly. Not unlike its striped counterpart in the wild. This was my latest 'stray pet cat.' And it did have a twist in its tail - about three-fourth's way down its tail it had a knot that made its tail look short and stunted.

About three days ago, we had heard a loud meowing outside and I had rushed out to see who the latest cat in the neighbourhood was. With a building coming up on the vacant site next to ours, which had been the haunt and getaway of the felines in the vicinity, we had all but lost sight of them. I found this big cat with a patchwork of colours - brown, grey, white and some black - sitting on the ground meowing away morosely.

When it saw me, its meowing grew more directed as if it was trying to tell me something. I rushed inside again and got it some milk in a small bowl before it disappeared. My husband took one look at it gulping down the milk and said what I had already concluded to myself - that it was pregnant and, poor thing, probably hadn't had anything to eat for days. Otherwise which self-respecting cat would ask for food? That's for dogs - barking their heads off and acting silly till they saw the food coming.

We saw it consume a second bowl of milk and I began to have visions of the cat delivering its litter in our house and getting to enjoy the joys of having kittens around the place (of course, they could be annoying but I didn't want to think about it just then). Of all the things I miss of my home in Coimbatore, it is the constant companionship of cats that I most sorely miss. From when I had persuaded my Dad to get us a kitten when I was about twelve, we have had a multiplication of the first cat, Chintu, and her family. So I just had to reach out an arm or a limb, and I would encounter a furry being. The last I heard, there are eight cats (or is it nine) at my parents' home. And now they have a dog too!

The next morning, I saw lots of cat hair and a warm, circular spot on the freshly washed clothes that I had left unfolded on the front couch. As I put the clothes into the wash again, I generously forgave the cat - after all, these are cold, rainy nights and it must be have been looking for a comfortable spot to sleep and climbed in through the open window.

That evening, it came again, meowed and got its quota of milk. I didn't go out; instead I kept the bowl on the window sill to admire it and touch it if possible. Of course, it wouldn't allow me near it, threatening to jump and run away if I went too close. After it had its full, it turned and jumped down. That was when the real twist in this tale was revealed to us - she was a he! (For those who have read James Herriot, you will remember something similar he says about one of his customers, Mrs. Bond, while naming her cats, "…but she did slip up in one case because Alex James had kittens three times a year with unfailing regularity.")

Well, I was a trifle disappointed but there is no gender bias in my love for cats. You still find me looking wistfully at the tom on the compound wall wondering when he would allow me to stroke him.