Le MoMo

MoMo was Fiona's son. He was a fine above-average Siamese, with an above-average face about the size of a platito, and had buff meat from Kathmandu Cold Storage, and rice for his nutrition. 3 or 4 x a day. Was he spoiled, ever. He is the first cat we know, who was dog friendly, and slept with our Lhasa Apsos in their own "Doggie Hotel", a sort of tool shed renovated into a designer canine residence: brick floors, jute carpeting, khasto canopy and fluffy cushions from the Dilli Bazaar cotton man, and the tri-colour Brit flag on the door. The adoption papers came, along with Dr. Shrestha's certificates of vaccination, changing his name from MoMo VanderVeen, to MoMo Domingo-Barker.
Since he was a male cat, he spent a lot of time outdoors: sometimes on his nocturnal visits away, he brought a lot of sorrow to Maheshwori and Gyano who would canvass the neighborhood looking for him. And was sighted once atop a tall pine tree in front of our residence and could not climb down, for two days. We could not call on the Fire Department, they probably would not have a ladder high enough.
David was converted from a non-cat, into a cat person. MoMo's favorite perch was on David's lap, or on top of his briefcase as he came home from a hard ICIMOD day. When we had the fireplace going, he would join us and curl up as comfortably as he can. Or walk along the fireplace front, causing once to burn the tip of his tail was he was wagging it in a relaxed way but caught on one of the log's licking flames. Or when David was snug under the double duvet and reading Rising Nepal, MoMo would push his way in between the paper and David's face, and plant himself firmly there, staring at David's eyes, daring him to move him away from his warm spot. And during the night, when he was allowed to sleep with us, he would push and push David off his space, to define his territory.
(to be continued in part 2)