Dokhin kothay?

Dokhin, like all cats I suppose, loved to hide. In an empty shoe box, behind my study table, underneath our TV cabinet, inside our low seating wooden box chairs. The tighter the space, Dokhin would squeeze right in, all snug and comfortable. And then he would give us a wide-eyed look of surprise when we managed to find him. After a good ten minutes of searching, of course. One of the recurring jokes that the wife and I shared, was that - in the past twenty months of our marriage, and the sixteen months of having Dokhin, we haven't said "I love you" to each other as much as we've said "Dokhin kothay?" (Where's Dokhin?)

We won't be saying that anymore. Dokhin Ray jumped over the rainbow bridge yesterday at 11:45am. He was diagnosed with FIP (Feline Infectious Peritonitis), a fatal disease with no known cure. After three weeks of fighting tooth and claw, we decided to let him go. Dokhin was such a magnificent little tiger, it would have been unfair to make him live minus his dignity.

He was only one and a half years old, and in that small amount of time, he had filled our lives with affection. To those who don't like cats (and I would know because I was one of them), I must point out that you probably have never received the affection of a cat. They are very choosy about whom they love, but when they do trust you, when they do feel secure around you, when they purr as you lightly stroke their chins, when they rub their bodies against your leg, when they follow you around the house just to check on you because you're home alone, or even when they're fast asleep on your arm with their head upside down and belly exposed... there's no feeling of more contentment.

Good bye, son. We know you've found a better hiding place.