Welcome to our feline republic

SY Quraishi

Updated At : 04:56 AM Mar 02, 2026 IST

MY late wife, Ila Sharma, was passionate about animals, always surrounded by rescued dogs and cats. Her daughters, Sachi and Shaivya, inherited this passion.

Sachi was posted in Mumbai with Bank of Baroda and wanted a cat. She found a flat she liked, but the landlady was allergic: either the cat or the house. Sachi chose the cat.

Weeks later, heading to work, a small white-and-brown kitten came crying to her at Santa Cruz railway ticket counter. She cancelled her travel, picked him up and went straight back home. He was named Ticket — soon shortened to Tiku. The next day, as if summoned by feline telegraph, another insistent stray arrived at her door. She was let in and named Jugni. The two grew up together, companions from the start.

A few months later, in a restaurant, Sachi noticed a small calico cat moving from table to table, begging for food. A friend wanted to adopt her but was shifting houses. “Can you keep her for a couple of months?” Two months became permanent. She was named Dulawar, or Dulu.

Then came Sachi’s transfer to Gurgaon — right in the middle of Covid-19. Moving three cats from Mumbai to Delhi felt impossible. All my VIP contacts were mobilised! The GM of Eastern Railway spoke to his Mumbai counterpart. The railway coupe arrived in Delhi bearing three carriers, three cats and the beginning of our feline republic.

Tiku, the first arrival, has never forgiven Dulu for existing. To this day, he snarls whenever she ventures too close. When offended, he registers a protest in unmistakable ways — by urinating precisely where it will cause maximum inconvenience: on beds, inside suitcases, over freshly folded clothes. It is not indiscipline; it is performance.

The girls are entirely different. Juna — formerly Jugni — is calm, tidy and impeccably behaved. Dulu, despite being the outsider, is gentle and patient, careful never to provoke. Between them, they quietly restore order whenever Tiku stages one of his rebellions.

Then there is the seasonal duplicity. In winter, all three insist on human body warmth. They climb onto laps, wedge themselves under blankets and occupy beds for hours, radiating entitlement. Come summer, they behave as though they have never met you. Attempts at affection are met with cool glances and swift exits. You are acknowledged only when the food bowl appears.

For me they are calming therapy.

The trio has acquired a doting fan — Amna, my son’s four-year-old daughter, is passionately in love with the cats. Every morning, she cries to come down “to meet Dada” — but heads straight for the cats with whom she plays for hours.

Our maid manages them, tantrums and all, with unruffled calm. There is no shouting, no attempt to reform personalities. She cleans up, adjusts routines and carries on. The cats follow us from room to room when they choose, ignore us when they don’t.

Cats are not wired to please. They choose, they sulk, they forgive selectively. In our home, they have found not obedience — but acceptance.

And from being Nana to two boys in London, I’m now Nana of three cats as well!

The writer is a former Chief Election Commissioner

Welcome to our feline republic

SY Quraishi

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