About Sumita

Sumita considers herself as a writer for all reasons. She has written most of her adult life starting with a book of stories at the age of eleven. After an unsuccessful attempt to get into journalism school Sumita fell head first, into advertising copywriting and that started an affair of a lifetime (at the risk of sounding a tad cheesy). Today Sumita is a not so lean and mean writing machine displaying capabilities in many styles. Check out the offerings on display and do get back to her with your feedback and requests for writing work -

Cat story

I’m not sure if the decision to be born as a cat was mine or if it was decided for me. If it was then clearly someone out there read my mind right down to the last comma. Personally I don’t believe that such amazing coincidences happen and trust me, I’ve seen quite a few of those. But yes, I did have very strong feline sensitivities and so here I am. A cat in a cat’s body with a mind that is razor sharp and eyes that have always evoked an immediate hush. I remember seeing one person look away the time she looked into my eyes. I could see a distinct shudder pass through her. Such things rarely bother me. I am, what is best described as, unflappable. I believe that is an excellent trait for a cat.

I won’t bother you with descriptions of how I look and the way I walk. I’m a cat, for god’s sake. How different can I be. But I’ve heard some loud whispers occasionally of how spooky I can be and how I can evoke shivers to run down spines. Not sure if that is even possible. A shiver rarely goes anywhere near the spine.

As far back as I can remember I’ve loved the languid feline-ness that comes with being a part of the cat family. The long, sensual stretch that can be such a pleasure to view and experience, the soft footed walk and the silent presence. The last especially is truly fantastic. Can’t remember how many times I’ve sneaked up on people without them ever being aware of it. Like the time I watched N fast asleep her quick shallow breathing gradually giving in to a deep steady flow interrupted by sporadic little grunts, as if of ecstasy. I had sneaked in and settled myself in a dark corner right next to the golden pool of light which came from the night lamp. Light and darkness right next to each other. Some people would have called it poetic. I just found it to be convenient.

You know what’s funny, the fact that even if I’m caught sneaking up on someone it doesn’t bother them as much as it should. They smile in relief, some look away with a glimmer of fear in their eyes while some just look a little creeped out. But there’s one whose expression I still remember because it was none of the above. He was reading a book in a quiet corner of the house. I was new in the house, i.e. I didn’t belong there. I had found the back door slightly open and had walked in with nonchalance. I strolled around the over done up living room and from there to the kitchen which had more gadgets than dishes. From there I went up the flight of stairs and into the library. I love libraries because they smell so interesting. Musty, neglected or loved (depending on the people) and full of half spoken thoughts.

The library here was fairly well kept. At least it was not dusty in the corners. As soon as I entered I caught the whiff of rancid fear. Hmmm, interesting that this smell existed in the library. I casually glanced around and that’s when I noticed the chair in the corner. The occupant was almost entirely hidden except for his head which was visible just above the chair. It was a small head fully covered with wiry brown hair. I was curious so I did my usual soft footed walk up to the chair and sat down close to his right side. As expected, he was not aware of my presence. His face was bent close to something soft and furry as he held it close to him. He was whispering something over and over again. Seemed a little odd because whatever it was that he was holding, did not respond.

I sat there and waited. I’m used to that. Actually I quite enjoy it. The look on the person’s face suddenly finding me there is priceless.

I must’ve moved because suddenly the wiry haired person holding the furry thing turned around and looked straight at me. I felt a jolt run through me. It had never happened before. As if something within me was on high voltage. His face was ordinary. Small, pale, smooth and sly. His eyes were like reflectors revealing nothing within. The furry thing in his hands was a toy. Perhaps? I didn’t quite pay attention. All I could do was stare at him, hypnotically and as I did I slowly watched those reflector eyes change colour. From blank to gray to gray green. It was like I was looking into a mirror. Just for a second I felt like I had disappeared into those eyes and into that smooth, pale face.

And then that sensation disappeared. I was back where I was. Sitting in a chair, holding a furry toy.

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