Howling cat, lemon spray
Malcolm had his second episode of uncontrollable howling today. Like the first one, it was brought on by the neighbourhood stray female cat. She is probably in heat. I had gone out to throw the garbage when Malcolm got a chance to get out of the door, wily little creature that he is. He smelt her and that was that — he went bonkers. (He’s not neutered.)
I didn’t see it happen, but I suppose the two of them had an altercation too, because I saw the other cat with a pretty bad scratch on her (poor thing expected some action, but got the wrong kind). Malcolm seems unharmed. Which is a happy surprise, considering how incompetent he generally is at everything. He isn’t the type of cat who you’d expect to win a street fight, but here we are. Although I haven’t been able to inspect him fully yet; he is still in rage and won’t allow anything to come close to him. I’m locked inside my study. He won’t allow me out. I had to ask my neighbour to come and close the main door of the house from the outside so that he doesn’t escape again.
The last time this happened, I had to spray copious amounts of a lemon spray outside the house to keep the other cat away. Cats hate the smell of lemon for some reason. I need to buy another bottle.
For the time being, I’m just waiting for Malcolm to calm down so I can get out of my room.
What I’ve learnt over these two episodes — and the multiple battle scars over my hands and legs that I’ve acquired — is that there’s nothing you can do when a cat is in rage. They’ll maul you to death if you give them the chance. All you can do is get away and let it calm down on its own. Perhaps that’s a lesson to carry over to human interactions too.
Malcolm the cat, and having pets and babies
Malcolm isn’t my cat. He belongs to a friend of a friend, who can’t keep him for a while. So he’s been with me for nearly 3½ months now.
I adore him. I don’t particularly understand the reason why, other than him being a helpless fluffy ball of fur. He’s not particularly affectionate, doesn’t really do much; mostly just eats and sleeps. This is probably how having a baby feels like — which, thankfully, I do not plan on having.
I had not planned on having a pet, either. The idea always seemed rather burdensome. And the pet, if you get one, never gets to have a choice in the matter of whether to be with you or not. How can you ever be truly sure that you’re not making its life miserable by keeping it with you? Pet owners will say they know their pet loves them. Me — I’d rather not take the chance.
Moral qualms aside, I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t enjoy having Malcolm around and didn’t fall in love with him.
A week of rest, possibly thanks to our education system
I’m switching jobs and serving my notice period at my current company.
Indian companies, you may know (if you’ve had the misfortune of working for one), can often times be unbelievably irrational.
To begin with, they’ll put notice periods of up to 3 months in the employment contract. Which means that you are asking 3 months of work from someone who has zero motivation or incentive to work you. Why would any manager with even half a brain ask you to serve that? Beats me.
Worse, I have had literally no work for the last month. Considering that, I asked them to release me early. They didn’t, nor have they given me any work. (Good for me, I guess: I get a few weeks of much-needed rest, while being paid for it!)
I suppose there’s something to be said about our education system here. Most schools in this country would criminalise critical thinking if they were given the choice.
Our education system punishes people for asking questions and thinking for themselves. Now that I think back to it, the amount of times I had fallen out with my teachers at school simply for asking questions they weren’t expecting is stupid. This pattern continued on to college. I always saw myself as a bit of an anarchist (in theory, if not in practice), so I didn’t mind it much.
But, here, you’re supposed to follow a template that’s been handed down to you. Go beyond that, and you’re in trouble. Managers in Indian companies are products of this system. The fact that they then make decisions which you wouldn’t expect from a right thinking person isn’t too much of a surprise.
Having said that, the new company I’m moving to is also Indian. And so far, the limited interactions I’ve had with the people there have been rather refreshing. I’m actually excited to work there. Here’s hoping next time I’ll have something nice to say about working for Indian companies!
On the writings of David Foster Wallace
This week, I finished reading a collection of essays by David Foster Wallace.
Informatively, the value of the book was questionable. But I am glad I read it. I like the way he writes — which is an eclectic combination of journalism, commentary, and personal anecdotes. It’s a style of writing which draws me to it, for that’s the way I used to write when I was younger (although I never did reveal as much of my personal life as he does).
If for nothing else, I appreciate the book for inspiring me to write a bit more.