Not That Interested

Chapter 32: The One with Simba's Love Child

"But for my own part, if a book is well written, I always find it too short."— Jane Austen

Even though it was a Sunday, I was so restless and depressed after Shehzer-Rania's departure, that I headed out for some art supply shopping. Mom handed me a list of stuff she wanted from Naheed superstore (her favorite grocery store). I spent a good hour in the art store; debating the merits of rice canvas versus card sheets with the store owner. Almost everyone at the store knew me by name, I had been visiting this place since before my college days. I grabbed a couple of paperbacks that looked interesting. I was about to leave when my eyes caught the cover of a Jane Eyre-based erotica on the shelf.

I gaped at the description, eyes bulging at this literary blasphemy.

" It's a novel that simmers with sexual tension but never quite reaches the boiling point. Which is to be expected. After all, the original was written in 1847.  That was then. This is now. And in JANE EYRE LAID BARE, author XYYZ writes between the lines to chart the smoldering sexual chemistry between the long-suffering governess and her brooding employer."

What the flamingo??

How can authors be so cruel? so mercenary? to mess with the original classic is equivalent to throwing fertilizer at Charlotte Bronte's grave and shouting; "Guess what? People in the 21st century are just too damned horny for your gentle characters. WE NEED TO SEE MORE SKIN! #ScrewAuthenticity"

Fan-fiction should never mess with classics. Period.

I had another long argument with the store owner about his choice of literature for sale. I basically threatened to pull my company's patron-ship if they don't screen their books better. I was bluffing of course, but they didn't need to know that. After soothing my bruised literature snob ego, I headed to complete Mom's chores.

I took my time strolling down aisles, and ticking off stuff from the list. Admittedly I got distracted in all the snack aisles. I may have, maybe, kind of sorta, pushed Mom's budget by a couple of thousand rupees. Or four. Who knows the total before checkout? and by then it is too late.

Pushing my snack laden trolley forward, I got more than one knowing smirk from other shoppers. They might have had trouble believing a girl like me could be such a foodie. I smiled back; "For the kids you know."

EMV is all sarcasm; 'You mean the kids that live inside you and your brother?'

While lugging the huge grocery bags to my car; I was faced with another dilemma: OPTP or Magic Corns?

Naheed Store has these lines of food stalls at the exit. I call them food sirens. They are so tempting, with all the delicious smells coming from them. How on earth am I supposed to resist stuff like that? So usually, I always, ALWAYS grab something on my way out. The problem is; I like both fries from OPTP and Steamed corns from Magic Corns.

Hmm....Magic corns do have a lower carb content. It is steamed, hence healthy food right? I'll go with corns this time. I stare longingly at the OPTP store the entire time I'm ordering my teeny tiny Barbecue corn cup. 'Mommy loves you too baby!' I mentally whisper to the OPTP cart. EMV is banging her head against something.

It was pretty much night when I reached home. When my Mom opened the door, her appearance was disheveled and hair was falling all over her face. My heart took a nose-dive.

"Ma! is everything ok?" I ask fearfully. She scowls back.

"NO! everything is NOT OK! you went out hours ago, I was worried sick!! Thank God you're home now, and you can take care of the animal. Your brother simply won't have anything to do with it. And it is driving me crazy with all the running about."

"Huh? What animal? We don't own a pet...."

She drags me into the living area and thrusts a basket into my hands. I come face to face with the biggest blue eyes I have ever seen. We stare at each other for long moments. I think I am in love. No...I'm sure that this is love.

The object of my affection lazily meows and does a spring-jump out of the basket. OH. MY. GOD. A KITTEN!!!!!

Not just any kitten! it is a golden-brown, tiny ball of fur. Persian kittens are my absolute favorite! I watch the tiny fat butt wriggling around, trying to squeeze into one of our couch crevices.

"Where did he come from?" I ask wonderingly.

"Shehzer had it delivered for you. The owner wanted to give it to someone who loves cats, apparently....You should thank him before tonight....here, this came with it." She briskly hands me a tiny envelope and proceeds to extricate the adventurous kitty from her precious potted plant. My new pet hisses adorably at my Mom, who scowls some more at it.

I tear open the card to find a single line scrawled on the paper:

"One Kitten to replace another."

My heart is fluttering at his thoughtful gesture. He knows I will miss Rania, so he gave me something to distract myself with. I want to cry some more at this. He has no idea how much I needed the kitten. It seems so generic, lonely old maid living with her cat. I don't even mind living a lonely maid life, if I get to spend it with this orange beauty.

I gently scoop him up, and stroke his tiny head. The fur is so soft, I don't think I can stop touching it. The kitty purrs lazily, her voice coming out like a tiny remote-control car's sound.

"Aren't you just adorable? Huh?...We have got to name you ASAP....Hmm...How does Garfield sound?" I croon softly to the fur-ball.

The ex-owner had left a litter box, a bag of cat food, and medication details inside the basket. I went about settling the newest family addition in our home. His basket was to stay in my room, because my brother claimed to be allergic to cats. I'm pretty sure he is exaggerating.

I call Shehzer once I have fed, and taken care of the kitten.

He doesn't recognize me when I call, but his voice softens when he realizes it's me.

"So. I'm guessing you got the cat huh?" He asks nonchalantly.

"Yes. Shehzer, I cannot thank you enough. I didn't even know how much I needed this right now. You....You just knew what I wanted. How crazy is that?"

"You mentioned that you wanted a kitten, quite some time back. I'm sorry if I was overly presumptuous. Pets are a serious responsibility. If you'd rather not have it, please let me know...."

"You're not laying a finger on my Simba." I threaten him.

He laughs loudly; "Simba? seriously?"

I am grinning so widely now.

"Ahaan...Simba. He has the same kind of grace, and majestic attitude that Simba had." While I'm saying this, Simba the kitty is very gracelessly involved in a mortal combat with my comforter.

"Well, it's your cat now. I guess he can be called Simba...Even though he probably looks like the real SImba's love child with a persian cat."

"Ha.Ha. Nala will probably kill Simba for the indiscretion!"

We end up catching up on our usually eclectic conversations. He talks about his internship, and how he recently saved a boy's life from TB. We strategically avoid the words "Marriage" and "Areeb".

When I eventually force him to hang up. I feel light-hearted for the first time since the Areeb debacle. Maybe life does get better eventually. I just hope I survive this without scratches.

A/N:

Hi there!

............

Well....

I got nothing to say just now. <3 you guys.

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