After many years I have been on holiday to a little village in France. It was so deep in rural France that it had no computer, television or even telephone connections so I spent two weeks in absolute isolation, terrifying at first and then I slowly got used to it. My hosts had a dog and two cats, lots of ducks and chickens, a fish pond and a vegetable garden with lots of berries. The weather was mildly hot, the sky was full of stars every night, not a sound except the birds, the hum of bees and the chirping of crickets. The food was wonderful, just lightly cooked vegetables, French bread, olives and salads. The vineyards stretched for miles till they met the mountains. The house was full of good movies in DVD format. I had brought books with me. I should have been happy. I was not. The human mind is such a strange thing and so absolutely out of control that even when nature gives you everything that could make you happy, it swings towards sadness.
What destroyed my chance at happiness? A little cat whom I named Clarissa.
I had been three days in the house when she turned up. She was black with a white square face and paws. She came in from the trees on the hills behind the house and she came and rubbed herself against my legs. She had a low, monotonous purr and it was obvious that she wanted to make friends. Sometimes, an animal talks to you and you can understand. I immediately understood her: it was not that she was a friendly cat by nature but she was desperate to make friends and get a home. My heart went out to her. My hosts informed me that she had obviously been abandoned by her owner. They said that many people brought their cats to the mountains here and threw them out. While they had their own two, they fed the new cat some food and she ate feverishly and disappeared back into the trees. The next evening she was back and again she was fed. By now, my hosts have started making the wrong noises: “we had an abandoned cat before and she ate some of the chickens; she'll be mean to our cats” etc. But two days later, she had not attacked the chickens and the other cats, an Orange one called Ginger and a grey striped one who looked like a cross between a mongoose and a raccoon called Foggy. She said hello to each person in the house by rubbing against their legs, purred loudly, waited politely till she was fed and then thanked everyone and let them pet her and left. She came into my kitchen, was immediately at home with everybody but held herself back with grace and dignity.
On the sixth day disaster struck. Ginger hid in a bush and leapt out at her. The point at issue was a plate of food I had kept out for Clarissa. Clarissa is a survivor and she defended her food. Ginger left the house. The next day she stayed away. My hosts went crazy with fear and we all beat the bushes and went up the hills looking for her.
Clarissa became the villain of the piece and when she appeared, she was driven off with curses and stones. Ginger came back the next morning, went straight up to the first floor of the building where my hosts lived and stayed there. She refused to come down or out. Clarissa was persona non grata and my hosts came down to inform me that since Ginger was so terrified it would be better if I did not "encourage" Clarissa and if they found her anywhere around, they would send her to the animal shelter. Animal shelters in Europe are not like those in India. They keep a homeless animal for a few days and then kill it. Cats in France are like the stray dogs of India. People throw them out, throw boiling water on them, are really mean to them. Every house has one and there are still many that are homeless. During summer, many French people go for holidays and throw their cats out while they are gone to fend for themselves. I became very tense. Suddenly the holiday became meaningless. It did not help matters that the route to my residence went past their patio and that they sat there most of the day. Clarissa was not stupid. She made a few attempts, was repulsed. The sun goes down by nine at night and so both of us waited. She mewed quietly outside my room and I fed her under the tree in front of my door. The next morning she came early before anyone had woken, leapt on my open window sill, was fed and disappeared. I ran out of food. I went to the nearby village and stocked up on cat food but had to hide it in case my hosts, who cooked for us and so were in and out of the kitchen, noticed. Once or twice Clarissa appeared while they were in and darted away as quick as lightening as soon as she saw them. Once she hid under my bed while I carried on a normal conversation with them and tried to divert them outside. When I fed her, I had to clean up immediately so that there was no smell or insects near a bowl. It rained one night and she was completely wet and came in bedraggled the next morning. I wiped her down with a towel but the towel had to be washed immediately after, in case any hair was seen on it!
Clarissa was not taking her outdoors very well. Day by day, her fur became more matted, she got thinner and her eyes became bigger and sadder. I went walking into the village and stopped at a few houses. I have a cat, I said through a mixture of hand mime and making miaou noises, would you adopt her as I don't live here. No! was the discouraging answer from all. Both the cat and I became sadder and sadder and I stopped talking to my hosts. Ginger continued her tantrums.
Finally it was my last night. I brought in enough food to feed three cats and put it all down, Clarissa came twice that night and finished all the bowls of food. I stroked and brushed her under the night stars and then said goodbye. I left early the next morning.
One little black and white homeless cat has dominated my thoughts since. She is probably dead by now. She had a choice of deaths. The boar hunting was to begin. The villagers take their dogs and leave them free in the mountains to hunt down and kill wild pigs. Most of the time they kill the cats abandoned there as well. She could have died of starvation because my hosts had the only house around and they refused to have her anywhere near them. She could have died of pneumonia because it would rain every few days and she was unprotected. She could have been caught by my hosts and taken to the "shelter".
Intelligent, sensitive, loving, Clarissa doesn't have a single chance to live in a human dominated world.
Maneka Gandhi
To join the animal welfare movement contact This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.
What destroyed my chance at happiness? A little cat whom I named Clarissa.
I had been three days in the house when she turned up. She was black with a white square face and paws. She came in from the trees on the hills behind the house and she came and rubbed herself against my legs. She had a low, monotonous purr and it was obvious that she wanted to make friends. Sometimes, an animal talks to you and you can understand. I immediately understood her: it was not that she was a friendly cat by nature but she was desperate to make friends and get a home. My heart went out to her. My hosts informed me that she had obviously been abandoned by her owner. They said that many people brought their cats to the mountains here and threw them out. While they had their own two, they fed the new cat some food and she ate feverishly and disappeared back into the trees. The next evening she was back and again she was fed. By now, my hosts have started making the wrong noises: “we had an abandoned cat before and she ate some of the chickens; she'll be mean to our cats” etc. But two days later, she had not attacked the chickens and the other cats, an Orange one called Ginger and a grey striped one who looked like a cross between a mongoose and a raccoon called Foggy. She said hello to each person in the house by rubbing against their legs, purred loudly, waited politely till she was fed and then thanked everyone and let them pet her and left. She came into my kitchen, was immediately at home with everybody but held herself back with grace and dignity.
On the sixth day disaster struck. Ginger hid in a bush and leapt out at her. The point at issue was a plate of food I had kept out for Clarissa. Clarissa is a survivor and she defended her food. Ginger left the house. The next day she stayed away. My hosts went crazy with fear and we all beat the bushes and went up the hills looking for her.
Clarissa became the villain of the piece and when she appeared, she was driven off with curses and stones. Ginger came back the next morning, went straight up to the first floor of the building where my hosts lived and stayed there. She refused to come down or out. Clarissa was persona non grata and my hosts came down to inform me that since Ginger was so terrified it would be better if I did not "encourage" Clarissa and if they found her anywhere around, they would send her to the animal shelter. Animal shelters in Europe are not like those in India. They keep a homeless animal for a few days and then kill it. Cats in France are like the stray dogs of India. People throw them out, throw boiling water on them, are really mean to them. Every house has one and there are still many that are homeless. During summer, many French people go for holidays and throw their cats out while they are gone to fend for themselves. I became very tense. Suddenly the holiday became meaningless. It did not help matters that the route to my residence went past their patio and that they sat there most of the day. Clarissa was not stupid. She made a few attempts, was repulsed. The sun goes down by nine at night and so both of us waited. She mewed quietly outside my room and I fed her under the tree in front of my door. The next morning she came early before anyone had woken, leapt on my open window sill, was fed and disappeared. I ran out of food. I went to the nearby village and stocked up on cat food but had to hide it in case my hosts, who cooked for us and so were in and out of the kitchen, noticed. Once or twice Clarissa appeared while they were in and darted away as quick as lightening as soon as she saw them. Once she hid under my bed while I carried on a normal conversation with them and tried to divert them outside. When I fed her, I had to clean up immediately so that there was no smell or insects near a bowl. It rained one night and she was completely wet and came in bedraggled the next morning. I wiped her down with a towel but the towel had to be washed immediately after, in case any hair was seen on it!
Clarissa was not taking her outdoors very well. Day by day, her fur became more matted, she got thinner and her eyes became bigger and sadder. I went walking into the village and stopped at a few houses. I have a cat, I said through a mixture of hand mime and making miaou noises, would you adopt her as I don't live here. No! was the discouraging answer from all. Both the cat and I became sadder and sadder and I stopped talking to my hosts. Ginger continued her tantrums.
Finally it was my last night. I brought in enough food to feed three cats and put it all down, Clarissa came twice that night and finished all the bowls of food. I stroked and brushed her under the night stars and then said goodbye. I left early the next morning.
One little black and white homeless cat has dominated my thoughts since. She is probably dead by now. She had a choice of deaths. The boar hunting was to begin. The villagers take their dogs and leave them free in the mountains to hunt down and kill wild pigs. Most of the time they kill the cats abandoned there as well. She could have died of starvation because my hosts had the only house around and they refused to have her anywhere near them. She could have died of pneumonia because it would rain every few days and she was unprotected. She could have been caught by my hosts and taken to the "shelter".
Intelligent, sensitive, loving, Clarissa doesn't have a single chance to live in a human dominated world.
Maneka Gandhi
To join the animal welfare movement contact This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.