Ask the Cat Keeper. Life – The Three MusCATeers…

Mufasa, Simba, King, I find this felines when I moved house recently.
Every evening I’d go chill at the backyard with my neighbor. These cats would roam around us rubbing themselves against our legs, by doing this they are marking territories secreting pheromones that only other cats can smell.


This is not a story about Heroes, a little bit of heartbreak, perseverance and staying on your toes in the most trying of times.

Something I’d like to put forward before I continue with this story. If you know someone who has a cat, respect them, cats are known to be the most attention seeking creatures out there and all they want is undivided love. 

King, he’s the white one with brown spots scattered over his body. Simba, completely brown and Mufasa, the brown one with white spots. It’d take me a while to get used to their identity.


King and Simba were the most active and what differentiated them was the latter was super friendly. That sassy bold household cat always by your side, a stranger or not,he’ll walk between your legs, don’t know what he was trying to picture. He’d always be on alert protecting you against imaginary enemies. You couldn’t ignore his catly gesture and if only I could meow or talk cat we’d be having the best of conversations. Sigh.

While Simba was busy trying to fit into our lives, King was busy by the mom’s sides taking notes, learning every survival trick. Always doing what the mom did. Each evening he’d hunt locusts with his mum and you could see day in day out his progress. Simba all this time was in a different world.
What about Mufasa? He was in a twilight zone, just a laid back cat always eating after king and missing out on everything.

I hope you’re following keenly (my sound in your head)

Simba would get out of the compound visit the next, try and learn human and come back in the evening. His curiosity was just on another level 
One evening he never came back. We thought he was adopted by some nice family out there. But he never failed to show up. 

The killer of all cats, Curiosity, is just ruthless, tempts them to their death bed, playing them some nice tunes and tells them about their nine lives (well that’s how I pictured it). Poor Simba, he fell for this trap, two days later our caretaker finds his dead body lying on the side of the busy Links road. . And it’s only that evening that it hit me how important his companionship was, his ever physical presence, his off the edge Yolo attitude. You’re missed Simba.
Mufasa had this sore in his left eye; he’d always be around never leaving the backyard, inept trying to catch what was left behind by King. Realizing he couldn’t hunt we’d carry something small for him to eat. 

Every time Mo jnr would stress, “peleka huyu paka kwa vet, (take this cat to the vet)it won’t cost you a thing.” But I kept saying “kesho“(tomorrow).

This went on for a week and we couldn’t figure his whereabouts… The outcome was just inexorable.
A few days later the next compound neighbor finds him dead under his bed in a curtful condition. 
King all this time has perfected the art of hunting and familiarized himself with us. He has the character of both Simba and Mufasa and knows very well how to manage them.
My neighbor would ensure that he’d never go to bed on an empty stomach, always carrying something for him. (Wish I had a recording of his reaction every time he saw my friend).
King has a new friend now, he tries introducing him to us, but No King! We don’t need another heartbreak buddy.​

This is King right now. The only 🐱 standing.
This is not just about these three felines. It’s about life and how we live through it.

This is how I pictured it.👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼

Simba is that individual who chooses to live his life without limits, the Yolo on the forehead guy. This guy is curious about everything. Driven by adrenaline, always wants to know what’s on the other side. He doesn’t believe in rules set up by society. For him, the grass will always be greener on the other side. Danger motivates him. The thing that gives him life is the same thing that leads to his downfall. He wants the lights – brighter, the music – louder and the audience – huge. He lives for these moments.

Mufasa on the other hand is that reserved individual consumed in a world of his own. He doesn’t open up easily, new challenges never a thing for him. His unwillingness to share his problems is the major source of his downfall. He later crumbles under all this “self-accumulated pressure” and the world never gets to hear his story.

By now you know about our third type of character, King. The equilibrium individual, ready to take risks but knows the outcome and resulting consequences. His movement well planned, knows when to say no, knows where to be, at what time and always has a backup plan. Appreciated by his friends and society, never outstays his invite, learns from those around him and always observing. Believes that this is a “man eats man society”, survival for the fittest, and if you’re not learning you’re not moving.

We as a society should always be on the watch out for our friends and loved ones. Society is you and me. Today you’re busy laughing with a friend, arguing, holding grudges, tomorrow, they’re gone! Don’t watch a friend go blindly to their grave. Not everyone is King in this world, I know we’re all fighting our own personal battles, this doesn’t mean we shouldn’t provide a helping hand, lend your ear. Don’t wait for them to reach out to you, fine tune your antennae, pick up on minutiae of everyday life; don’t just skate along with little subtleties lest you wish to see a friend suffer. The world needs your gift and only you have been programmed to give it out. I don’t believe that we are created equal; I believe we’re all special in our own ways, one way or another.

So what are you waiting for, wake up talk to that Mufasa, let them open up to you, hear them out, get that burden off them. 

Get hold of that Simba. He’s busy jumping around, talk to him about his energy and how he can put it into good use. Let them know there’s more to life, reprogram their motto, scrub that Yolo off their forehead. 

You’re King; the world has taught you how to handle stuffs, put this gift into good use. You’re not just built to cruise through life and survive these hurdles. You’re meant to be an inspiration, a backbone to these two. You’re not king without Simba and Mufasa; you can’t live without them as life wouldn’t be interesting for you. Use that trick up your sleeve. Light a candle in Mufasa and Simba’s world. 

We’re all in a wide wild world. Survival for the fittest shouldn’t be the order of the day. Erase that file. When the world is too dark for these individuals and full of unhappiness for them to bear, it’s up to you to inform them that the glass is half full and you’re ready to top it off. 

You’re the light, you’re the smile, and you’re the world. 

You’re Simba. You’re Mufasa. You’re King .
                       🙏🏼 Blessings: 🙏🏼

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LETTER TO MY UNBORN: 5th generation

      In 1970 a lady named Roe won a landmark case that became a symbol for feminism as regards to womens’ rights when it comes to their bodies. The WADE vs. ROE ruling voided Texas state law that banned arbotion, it then formed jurisprudence for federal law. potus
Ronald Reagan at the same time had initiated a tough on crime ‘war on drugs’ policy, at that time U.S.A had less than 50k inmates in two decades the number quadrupled, due to punitive prison sentences for first time drug offences and even legislated representation through a so called third strike (adapted from baseball) which meant repeat offenders were not allowed to vote even after paying there debt to society.

In Malcom Gladwell’s book ‘Tipping Point‘ he explains factors effecting the maxima or minima of a trend. He posits the reduction in violent crime in the 90s’ america was due to adoption of the abortion ruling across states since the trend was observable in other states according to the sequence they adopted it, while status quo was relevant in states that were not affected by the genesis of pro-life and pro-choice debate. Well, America no longer has a cocaine crisis but an opiod one.

The parents of a child each contribute 23 chromosomes. The male determines sex by donating the Y chromosome but before it is activated the being develops as a female, hence the reason men have nipples. Interestingly the first sperm to reach the ova doesn’t fertilize it rather they soften it for a lucky one in a million. Women are born with a set number of ova, while men will produce trillions of sperm: a way to guarantee survival of the species.

At birth a childs’ brain is said to be Tabula Rasa. Its first experience is a slap on the buttocks while being held upside down to induce breathing. The mother will suck mucus from the orifices, Sigmund Freud has established comprehensive study on the childs development upto their pre-teens. His protoge Carl Jung had his seminal work on the years after discredited for being romantically involved with his subject: cited for lack of objectivity.

At 15 years of age in my culture, one is circumcised and enters an active warrior age set. My paternal great-grand father Kamano ( an Agikuyu dance strictly for elderly men) was a cattle rustler, a noble profession in that era. In the late 19th century he bought land in Mutharakwa( cedar-oak tree), Limuru with 300 goats. Infact my great grandmother was a war bride Maasai from Narok (black), nicknamed Nyabaki for she was bitter like tobbaco and would thrash other women when they went to fetch water. She was the third wife who bore three sons. My grandfather being the eldest and a controversially-educated clergy man who made a fortune from selling timber and cafes at railway stations between Njoro and Molo in Nakuru.

My maternal great grandfather Ritho wa Githinji ( eye, son of giant who slaughters) was involved in the Mau mau as a freedom fighter in Nyeri. An administration police camp was established opposite his homestead on his ancestral land during operation anvil, it still exists to date. My namesake grandfather was a grade 1 mechanic, very proficient that CMC, Nakuru would refer the most technical repairs of land rovers to him even when he was driver to the District commissioner of Loiyangalani (a place of many trees) on lake Turkana. He had immigrated with his wife a descendant of a maasai clan in laikipia, from Nyeri to Njoro in Nakuru. My grandmothers eventually became next door neighbours.

My parents individually made their way to Nairobi, by sheer coincidence their paths crossed and for sometime lived above a nightclub called Rainbow bought in my fathers name overlooking Jeevanjee gardens. In the early 80’s they bought a plot in Kajiado, already with two kids they were blessed with two more. A people with address my dad would say once to me.
I was born in Guru Nanak maternity in Parklands, but raised in Ongata Rongai. I was stopped by cop last year and I identified as myself as a Nairobi citizen but a Kajiado native. Very apt since I was born in the nations’ capital and cut my teeth in its metropolis. Having experienced my ‘return of Saturn’ less than a year ago, I’m eager to combat the next phase of my life, perhaps even get a scion like my good friend moulidy moulidy. As I contemplate the fourth level in Maslows heirarchy of needs maybe I will settle down like my species did when they discovered nyama choma and sing my song as birds of the air do to mark their territory.

                    ++ next patient! ++