The neighbors said it was a curse.
I said it was fate.
Perhaps there was no woman more peculiar, more unsettling, even than Ratri. While other pregnant women craved sweets or sour fruits, Ratri longed for something that left Anto utterly baffled. At first, he thought it was just another passing whim, the kind that would fade once the baby arrived. After all, didn’t every woman forget her cravings eventually? But he was wrong, terribly wrong. It wasn’t enough for Ratri to care for her own child; she wanted, just as fiercely, to raise a kitten.
It all began six months ago, when a stray kitten slipped quietly through the back door of their kitchen. It was pitiful to look at, barely two months old, its body crawling with fleas, its skin covered in festering sores. Thin to the bone, one of its legs was crippled, forcing it to limp awkwardly with every step. Green flies hovered around it constantly, as if it carried decay wherever it went. Anyone who saw it would have turned away in disgust, perhaps even retched.
At the time, Ratri was three months pregnant. Anto feared for his wife, and their unborn child. He chased the kitten away, harshly, refusing to let it linger near the house. Word spread quickly. The neighbors talked. Some whispered, others condemned him outright. A cat, an animal the Prophet himself was said to cherish, should have been treated with kindness. Yet Anto had driven it off without so much as offering food.
By the time Ratri reached her seventh month, the strange longing returned. She wanted that very kitten again. Anto refused. How could he possibly find a stray that had come and gone without a trace?
But Ratri would not let it go. No matter what, she insisted, Anto had to find it. For months he searched—markets, fish auctions, even the gutters—yet the kitten remained nowhere to be found. Once, he brought home another cat, one that looked vaguely similar. But a woman’s instinct is not so easily fooled. She didn’t want just any cat. She wanted that one.
Anto’s heart pounded unevenly. Ratri lay on the hospital bed, her body still aching all over. Even a trip to the bathroom required a wheelchair. It was only natural, she had just given birth.
He had just arrived. Sitting beside her, his thoughts churned restlessly. His eyes were dim, shadowed by worry. Now and then, he glanced at her face, only to turn away toward the window, where the glass still shimmered with droplets from the evening drizzle.
It wasn’t the hospital bills that troubled him, even though they were rumored to be steep. The money from selling two goats and several sacks of rice was more than enough to cover everything, even the upcoming aqiqah ceremony. No, this was about the cat. Again.
“Have you found it?” Ratri’s voice was faint, almost a murmur, but it reached him clearly.
Anto shook his head. A bitter smile tugged at his lips, a quiet admission of failure.
“I want that cat, Mas.”
Her brow tightened, irritation flickering across her face. Anto lowered his gaze. His chest trembled at the sound of her insistence. While other women, fresh from childbirth, longed to hold the baby they had carried for nine months, Ratri clung stubbornly to her desire to see a cat.
Night settled in, the rain having ceased. In the middle of his anxiety, still wondering how on earth he could find the kitten, Ratri suddenly asked to see their baby. Her condition had improved, after all. The newborn would surely need its mother’s milk.
Anto’s face went pale. He didn’t move right away. Something heavy pressed against his thoughts, an unease he couldn’t shake.
“Mas, bring the baby here. If you can’t carry it, ask a nurse,” Ratri snapped, growing more irritated.
A cold sweat broke across his skin. Still, he steadied himself and made his way to the room where the baby was being cared for. He lifted the tiny body into his arms, his chest swelling with emotions he could barely name.
Step by step, he walked back toward Ratri’s room, lost in thought. It wasn’t the missing cat that weighed on him now—but something far more difficult. The child born of their love rested in his arms. And deep within, he clung to a fragile hope—that Ratri would understand.
That she had given birth not to a human child…
…but to a small kitten, writhing softly within its swaddle, as though searching, hungrily for its mother’s milk.
KOMPAK Yogyakarta, January 2022.