I’m not a cat person.
Tonight in a small room, I am sitting with an open wound. Healing.
My work is my Dharma. I lead with Wisdom.
And a Bili wanted to enter my room.
Blueish. Greyish. That innocent look. That cuteness in the eye that sees what humans don’t.
She was knocking. I could hear the paws and it was super cute lah 😆.
I smiled. Maybe she knows. Maybe she smells healing blood. Maybe animals recognize a healer before people do.
I was nervous though.
I got up to open.
She wasn’t there.
I felt bad — then I remembered. That knock… Jackie and Milo — my two jack Russell terrier 🐶 – used to knock like that. Mother and son. Same soft knock. Same healer, let me in.
These two were more noisy and always happy when my dad gave them food.
It was amusing at first. A friendly cat saying hello. Then it caught feelings. Because some knocks you never forget, even when the paws that made them are gone.
In the City, everything is pink. But the one who came to see me was grey-blue. A color that doesn’t belong — just like me.
A stranger who speaks fluent Hindi and blends in easily, but belongs nowhere.
In reflection, I remembered once my brother had asked me to place both my hands up facing like playing a game or something. At that time I thought it was just a game.
Mother and son sent a messenger tonight. A little Fakir in fur. To see if I still open doors when something innocent knocks.
I do. Even if she’s gone by the time I open — the getting up is the prayer.
Milo Knew. I Now remembered.
Milo fell asleep on my tummy, it was more on my left side.
Not center. Left.
Head heavy, breathing slow.
Like he was listening to something inside me. Or holding something down. While I pat him on his head with my fingers.
I remembered that vividly.
At that time I didn’t think much.
Looking back, I did have minor issues when I got triggered by the sudden change of people’s behavior towards me. My body was holding what my mind couldn’t.
He knew. Dogs know before we do. Mother taught son how to guard, and son chose the left side — where we hold our gut, our fear, our undigested stories.
Milo boy wasn’t sleeping. He was healing. His head was the medicine.
I only remembered it tonight, after the bili knocked and left. After the open wound. After I got up.
Jackie and Milo — mother and son — never stopped doing their duty.
