Face-off with the undertaker

PART I

The uninitiated in the field of bestial psychology would typically be emotionally inclined towards a fauna that possesses a timid nature, say, for example the guinea pig or the rabbit. Even a specimen from the bovine genus (in the event that the first two are unavailable) would quite well satisfy the zoic societal need of such a person. However, after careful observation and keen study of animal behavior, in particular their sanitation habits, I have decided that I rather prefer the more aggressive members of the animal kingdom. So much so that I decided to adopt as pet a representative of the particular class. The precise carnivore that I chose was a cat of a rather black hue.

The other members of my family were aghast at the very first meeting. The wife, in particular simply could not come in terms with the idea of sharing the household with a lowly being from the less developed strata of nature. But I was determined and employed all my diplomatic skills to coerce her into welcoming the new member to the family. This was about a year or so ago. So far, so good. What I shall be narrating now and which holds the key to the future unfolding of events is what happened say about a week ago from now, well give or take a day depending on when you are reading the story. It is a true story, mind you.

The cat in question had grown rather fond of the family and I returned the affection in ample quantity. I used to have food with the cat (the cat seated on the floor, of course), used to drive around with her in tow and so on. I am sure you have a bit of an imagination. Well, knowing womankind, probably what would be clear to you too is that the look in the eyes of the wife was of a mildly disapproving nature when witnessing all these activities. The cat was well aware of this feeling of mistrust but I suppose it chose to remain silent keeping in view my relationship with the cynic. Until the fateful Monday evening, that is.

I had fed the little one and carefully tucked her under the warm flannels for a good night’s sleep. With a very approving purr, the pet got into a comfortable position and was almost starting to snort when I left for a glass of milk. Hardly had I taken a gulp when a maddening wild scream of what remotely matched a yell of a cat in distress made me spill the milk all over the place. It was not a yell of a mere cat. It was a yell from the wife, I soon discovered as the events unfolded. Another louder yell followed within a very short interval. This time it was from a cat.

I had just witnessed the tender sight of the little cat warmly settle for a sleep and my heart was filled with affection for the fellow being. In the heat of the moment, what had escaped my mind was that my wife was still busy in the kitchen and very carelessly I had switched off the light in the corridor that leads you from the kitchen to the bedroom. The wife in the mean time had decided that she was done with the daily chore and was beating a retreat towards the bedroom. In doing so, she had to trespass the domain which was currently in the control of the domesticated beast. Probably she trod on an exposed limb of the cat or probably the cat simply took it as an opportunity of revenge I could not say for sure, but the end result was that it did bite on the foot of the person in charge of the household. No wonder she was flustered and she flung the animal towards one of the walls with a mere swing of her left leg. This is when I heard the second yell and to make a long story short, the cat succumbed to the injury sustained in the process.

PART II

Usually in such circumstances, you are unnerved. My composure was shaken a little bit, I admit. But soon common sense took over and the brain resumed its normal functioning. I was left with a very odd combination of commodities to tackle with – a dead cat and a distressed wife. I decided that I could console the wife in due time, but what about the body lying loose. It is not very soothing to the nerve to be caught unaware in the company of a dead body in the middle of the night. The body would soon putrefy and there would be abominable smell in the environs before you realize. The wise thing to do in such situations was to give the body the burial it so well deserved. I set off on mission straightaway.

The graveyard was a quiet place about ten minutes drive from my humble abode. There was an eerie chilliness in the air. I started looking for the undertaker as soon as I disembarked from the car. I was looking in the long direction of the graves in the hope of human company meeting the eye. Precisely at that moment there was light tap on my shoulders from the behind. I was startled a little bit. On turning quickly, the eye was presented with a rather peculiar looking personality. He had long uncombed hair and he had a distinctly smaller left eye. He had numerous scars on the face too - the exact number of which I cannot recollect at the moment. He gave me a rather suspicious look.

“Trouble?”, asked the eccentric undertaker.

“None whatsoever. Just wanted your help in a little burial”, I replied.

“Right now?”.

“Yes, right away.”

“So there is trouble”, he said with a satisfied smirk.

In the middle of the night if you come up with burial requests to unknown undertakers with no accompanying crowd of wailing females and grave males, I suppose trouble is the usual suspect. His price was a thousand for the burial and another thousand for keeping quiet about the ceremony thereafter. I have him a surprised look.

On being enquired about the body in question, I led him towards the car. Now it was his turn to give the surprised look. So, after getting even in the department of surprised looks, he let me know that he refused to bury anything other than human remains in his esteemed graveyard.

After what seemed to me an hour’s persuasion coupled with a significant increment of his remuneration for the seemingly simple ritual, he finally gave in. With utmost respect for the deceased, he proceeded to retrieve the mortal remains of the feline lying numb in the back seat of the car. Now, most of you who are in the habit of retrieving mortal remains of domesticated fauna from back seats of cars would vouch for the fact that it is indeed a very innocuous business. You hardly sustain a scratch on the back of your hand in the process. This was precisely the anticipation on the mind of the unsuspecting undertaker. But he was in for the shock of his life. There was a hideous cry of shock and torment to be heard in the surroundings in the following moment. No only did he sustain a mere scratch on the back of his hand but an entire cube of flesh was severed from his index finger with a simple flick of the dead cat’s lower jaw. Now, you are probably wondering what modern machinery would have propelled the lower jaw of a dead cat to cause such a heinous injury on the simple-minded undertaker. You could not be more naïve.

The cat in question was not dead in the first place. It was just rendered unconscious owing to the impact on the hind quarters of its head that it sustained when slammed against the wall by the wife. It must also have lost a considerable portion of its memory in the process, I could not say for sure. But what could be said for sure was that the said graveyard was no more a safe place for a simple citizen who is entangled with a deceptively dead cat and a red-faced undertaker with an injured index finger. As the cat made a roar of a meow and was starting to make a quick exit from the spot of crime and as the simmering undertaker impulsively started to follow the cat, me being the wisest one quickly twisted the car key in its rightful socket and made good my own escape. Undertakers and cats are what I have been trying to avoid from that fateful night.