Muffin

by Karthik Kotresh

If it were up to Aakash, he would have preferred a puppy to a kitten. But Aniket, his little brother, had found a kitten just outside the gate and brought it in. So, it was a kitten for now—at least for two days until their parents returned from a wedding. 

“He’s so cute, isn’t he?” Aniket said again and kissed the kitten on its forehead.

“Don’t kiss it, Ani. It’s a stray. It’s filthy.”

Aniket ignored him. “His name is Muffin. Call him Muffin.”

Aakash remembered his mother telling him why he didn’t need a pet. Apparently, having a five-year-old chubby little baby brother who was ten years younger than he was equivalent to having a puppy. He crouched down next to Aniket. 

Aniket propped the kitten on his left thigh, stroked its head, and scratched it behind its ears. But the kitten didn’t move, didn’t meow, didn’t purr. It was just steady like a toy with real fur. 

“Go on, pet him. He likes it,” Aniket said.

I think he’s dead, Ani. 

“No, he’s not,” Aniket said. “Come on, touch him.”

“How did you know what I was thinking—”

Aniket took Aakash’s hand and placed it on the kitten. “He’s so soft, isn’t he?”

Aakash was relieved to find out that the kitten wasn’t dead after all.  

“But why isn’t he meowing?” Aakash said.

“I think he’s just tired.”

The kitten was sitting like a sphinx on Aniket’s thigh, with its paws tucked under its body, its head pointed straight ahead, eyes unblinking and fixated on something or nothing. Aakash moved a little closer to its face. Stunning black-and-white coat, soft and white whiskers, eyes the color of the green sea, a tiny pink nose and a tiny mouth. Such a gorgeous creature. Surely, cats were sent from the heavens to keep humans in check. But why wasn’t this kitten ordering them around or demanding attention?

Aniket snapped his fingers. There was no response at first, but then, a moment later, the kitten turned its head, just a little, enough to catch his gaze, the vertical black slit in its eye never dilating. 

Aakash flinched. “Ani, take this cat out of the house and leave him where you found him.”

An intense gloom came over Aniket’s face as his eyes welled up. “But why?”

Aakash glanced at the kitten. “He’s not…” he began but stopped short when he saw his brother’s face. Aniket’s mouth was quivering, and he was trying hard to hold his tears back. 

“Okay, okay, but you’ll do what I say, understand?”

Aniket nodded enthusiastically.

“Good,” Aakash said, breaking into a smile. “He must be hungry. Why don’t you make him sit in that corner over there and give him some milk?”

Aniket let out a triumphant laugh, sprang up with the kitten in his hands, and ran over to the corner of the room, sat it down carefully, and ran to the kitchen. He came back with a bowl of milk and placed it in front of the kitten. “Drink up, Muffin.”

The kitten seemed content with just sitting and staring into the distance. 

Aakash picked up the kitten by its elbows. It was warm, fuzzy, alive. But why wasn’t it purring or squealing like kittens do? He sat it back down on the floor and then picked it up by its tail, with its head and paws facing down. 

“You are hurting him,” Aniket cried.

The kitten didn’t seem bothered by it. It didn’t cry, didn’t snarl, didn’t try to scratch him, didn’t try to break free. 

Aakash let go and the kitten landed softly on the floor and positioned itself as before, tail curved around its paws, its eyes staring ahead at nothing. 

“Why did you do that?” 

“I was testing something.”

Aniket ran towards the kitten and stroked its head. “He’s such a good kitty,” he said. “He will scratch you if you make him angry.”

Right. Hell hath no fury like a kitten scorned.

“What did you say?” Aniket said.

“I didn’t say anything. But something’s wrong with that kitten, Ani.”

“Don’t say that.”

“He doesn’t move, doesn’t meow, doesn’t purr, doesn’t drink the milk. Have you ever seen a cat like that? Kittens are very playful, you know.”

“He’s just a sweet, silent kitten, that’s all.”

“Maybe he’s sick.”

“He doesn’t like it when you say that.”

“Really? Did he say that to you?”

“Yes—”

Aniket let go of the kitten and rose to his feet with a start and came and stood by Aakash’s side. 

“What happened?” Aakash said.

“I don’t know. I don’t like him anymore. Let’s… let’s leave him outside.”

They looked at each other in silence and then back at the kitten. Nobody spoke for a minute or two. Nobody moved. 

And then, the kitten moved. Its tail came away from its paws and it stood up and yawned as if waking up from a deep slumber. It looked up at Aakash and let out a high-pitched squeaky mew. 

Aakash heaved a sigh of relief. 

The kitten’s ears flattened, its tail puffed up, twitched back and forth rapidly, and the kitten started mewling like its life depended on it. Then it came and sat by Aakash’s leg and looked up at him as it continued its cry for attention. Aakash picked it up, but it didn’t stop mewling. 

“Ani, here, take your kitten.” 

Aniket wasn’t standing next to him anymore. He had moved to the corner of the room. He sat in the same place where the kitten was until a moment ago, his knees drawn to his chest with his hands wrapped around them. 

The kitten squealed and squirmed in Aakash’s hands. Aakash looked at the kitten and then back at his brother. Aniket was looking ahead, his eyes unblinking and fixated on something, at nothing.

The kitten hissed at the Aniket-like thing on the floor.

Karthik Kotresh holds an MFA in creative writing from the University of Nevada, Reno. His short story, “The Bridge,” received an honorable mention in the Fall 2020 Ghost Story Supernatural Fiction Award. Born and raised in India, he currently lives in Reno, Nevada.