The pressure of turning 40 is tremendous if you don’t have anything to brag about on social media. It had been a good ten months since I had crossed the big four-oh, and I had no milestones to flash. So, I decided enough was enough, and I packed my bags and went to Goa for a holiday. Sitting in one of those roadside cafes, waiting for my American breakfast to arrive, I was scrolling aimlessly through my news feed. And there she was. A blob of black and white trying to run on her fours, only to plonk herself right in the middle of the floor and look around as though somehow it was the floor’s fault. I was in love for the nth time.

These pet adoption FB groups are addictive, I tell you. Not too long ago, I found one black beauty with white paws as though she had gloves on. I was in love. I showed the picture to the husband who categorically refused to add to the clan. I kept at it for a week. I asked, he declined, and I continued to pester. Finally, I think he just got fed up and said ‘fine’. And I got cold feet! You see, the ball was now in my court. I dilly-dallied for another few days, and by the time I made up my mind, she got adopted.

Sigh! Here I was again.

I looked at her for the millionth time, and she had this defined white heart dangling on her forehead. It seemed to be telling me that she’s hanging by a thread for love. And if that was not enough, she had a big black shaped heart on the right side of her body. In short, she was pudding, and I loved desserts. So, after a flurry of messages to and fro, the lady who was fostering her decided we were kosher and agreed to give us the little doggie. Fudge, the last of her litter, was coming home in two days. The 40th year was going to end on fabulous.

Fudge Jessie Crasto entered our home on a warm October morning, and the husband and the daughter took to her immediately even as they came to terms to what I had done. You see, we already had two rescued cats at home. Tabby Tinkle was 5, and calico Cutlet was 3. The husband, as luck would now have it, was surrounded by 5 PMSing women at any point in time. He often says we had one daughter, but we forgot to use Pet Protection. Well, what was done was done. We were trying to get the hang of being first-time dog parents. The husband went out and got a big bed, food and water bowls, puppy food, dog shampoo -the works. We decided she’d sleep in our bedroom, just in case. Thankfully, she slept like a baby -for an hour. And then I heard some whimpering. I tried to get her to go back to bed, but she’d follow me to mine. It was her first night, and I was half dead to the world, so I took her to bed. Fudge nestled her head in the warmth of my neck and was soon fast asleep. And this happened every night. Clearly, I did not think this through. Judge me all you want, but to tell you the truth, I loved snuggling with her, too.

Feeding Fudge was a job we all vied for. You had to see her guzzle the milk bottle. Oh, the joy of a parent when the child finishes her food and takes a second helping. I now know what my mom cribbed about all those years ago. I know it isn’t easy to visualise looking at me but let’s not shift focus. Days were passing by, and the cats now had this new four-legged creature to share their home with. And as cats are wont to be, they wanted nothing to do with this round ball of excitement. They stayed away, sniffing occasionally and showing their disdain more often. But Fudge didn’t quite speak the same language. She wanted to eat cat food, poop in their litter-box, and do what they did because in her head she was one of them. Dogs in the vicinity could bark from now to kingdom come, and it wouldn’t make a darn difference to her. One measly meow and she’d be chasing her tail, the maids and us all over the house to find the source of the sound.

Tinkle, our oldest is a wanderer and often jumps unto the ledge of our third-floor apartment and goes for a stroll. Fudge, in her pursuit to follow her, almost brought down the split AC unit in the grill. Fudge also hated the leash. She’d accusingly look at us every time we tried to take her down as to why the cats could do their business in the privacy of their home, but she was expected to do it in front of the world. What kind of people were we?

Houston, we had a problem.

That’s when we decided to bring in a dog trainer to get Fudge to behave more doggie like. So, the first commands that were introduced were ‘Sit’ and ‘Stay’. ‘Stay’ she learned, but ‘Sit’ wasn’t happening. Day in and out, we’d try, but Fudge would not relent. One day we were particularly exhausted when the trainer suggested that we try another command. Just then, my maid walked in, and Fudge was excited because that was her daily dose of the sari to play with. So, she went ballistic as she tried to navigate the pleated garment, much to the exasperation of my maid.

“Kay kartes Fudguday, khali bas”. 

And Fudge sat.

That’s when we figured that Fudge was Marathi Manoos.

Laugh all you want, but it was this very antic that got Fudge an enviable spot at the Kommune Furry Tales Story Telling session. I know, right!

It’s going to be three years since Fudge came over and she’s still learning to let people into her inner circle. She is slowly coming to terms with the fact that nobody is going to rob the house every time the lift door opens. Fudge doesn’t trust the outdoors wholly, but the trainer said she would do so on her terms, so to be patient. She likes us to plonk the cushions by the window so that she can survey the land like Mufasa. Now, she has learned to be leashed and taken down, but major pampering for at least 15 minutes prior is mandatory. Does she still eat cat food? Yes, because she is faster than the ghost who walks, but she has learned how to sit, stay, jump, kiss and give paw. Hold out your hand with food, and she’ll pick the right one. She loves cheese and has taken a liking to mango, more recently. And boy, can she gobble ice! She still chases Tinkle and Cutlet but won’t allow me to yell at them. And oh, she has added to the clan by letting Nuggets, a stray cat come over. But that’s a story for another post.

Actually, Fudge is quite the brat, and I take full responsibility. I fall for those limpid brown pools of cuteness every darn time. Try asking her when will she be a good, sanskari doggie and she tilts her head first to the left, and then to the right, and repeats. And we find ourselves going aww at her master snake move that I am sure she picked from the Karate Kid. We are such suckers, I tell you, acche din be damned. So, long story short, the 40 plus years it has been back to the drawing board with potty training all over but I ain’t complaining. I guess if I hadn’t taken the plunge then, I never would gather the courage to do so. Bringing Fudge home might have been an impulsive decision, but she is our forever furry girl.

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