The Cat

It's a pitch black cat with fur of white underneath. The first time I met her, it was a cold winter evening of March 2008 and it lay sprawled under the silencer of my bike which was still warm after half an hour since I had returned from office. I had come downstairs to retrieve the keys from my bike fuel lock, which I habitually forget. She lay sprawled, a young kitten, and purred slightly as I reached my bike to remove the keys, as if reprimanding me for having broken its reverie. I was equally overwhelmed by the nonchalance of a wild cat who didn't show any signs of fear. Instead it moved over and rubbed itself against the fabric of my trousers demanding redemption for my fault. I paid in full, for I brought a pack of Tiger biscuits and broke them into small pieces as I fed her. An uncommon sight watching a cat devour Tiger...
And it became a friend, not just my friend but of everyone living in our flat and even of the family that lives in the flat downstairs...
It's been more than a year now and every day when we all leave for the office, she greets us with her unusually loud mew while it demands its share of milk from the family downstairs and the occasional party of tender chicken pieces and left over bones from our house...
And then there are those who fear a cat, who also dwell in our flat. The fun part of the day is to invite her into the house and watch the ailurophobics jump the way she should, while she inspects every nook and corner of the house with immense grace and poise in her walk, exactly in the image of a British lady of Victorian Period...