Gardens, Mice & Cats

Recently, I changed my job. I had been thinking of 'moving on' as they say, and finally came a time when I could turn this desire into action and dutifully told my employer of my decision. That was when I realized how well the company knew me and cared not only for me but also for what was mine. They knew things about me that I didn't. For example they knew I had a garden. Where exactly in my small apartment on the fifth floor of a building was this garden secreted, I had never managed to find in the two years that I lived in this place, but then two years is hardly enough to truly know someone or something as complex as an apartment. The short of it is that my company knew. In fact, not only were they aware of my garden, but they were also congizant of my neglect of this garden. My garden, as they put to me, had gone to seed. So, to help me get my garden back on its feet, as it were, they decided to help me. I was asked to proceed on gardening leave from six in the evening that very day, for there was not a moment to be wasted.

I woke up the following morning with a very specific mandate: that of tending to the roses. Even though I had never ever set eyes on my garden, I felt inside me, that I grew roses. Or at least should be growing roses.

Sunlight was streaming in through the windows when I woke up (regained consciousness was more like it). From what little I knew of a farmer's life, the day has to begin at the crack of dawn. I would prefer mine to begin at the crack of ice - and that was very nearly how it came to be the previous night, but then one can't have everything. I take no mandate lightly. I sprang out of bed with as much enthusiasm as two-hours-and-a-bit of sleep would allow me and I went outside the room.

My wife of many years was there, sitting at the dining table, wearing a restrained sort of smile, not the sort that prevents general mirth from overwhelming oneself, but one that restrains the user from using other darker emotions.

“Had fun?”

“No, not exactly, just a couple of people...from the office...you know...talking shop..you know...” I offered. It wasn't the strongest explanation, but at the time, it was all I could come up with. And anyway this must have been what happened since I only had a vague recollection of much of the evening.

“You know how these evenings are with the office crowd, you just seem to bring work to a pub.” This was better I thought.

“Four hours after midnight is generally classified as early morning.” She offered as a fact. “Evenings typically end sometime before midnight.”

I must admit she had a point.

“Anyway, now I will not be talking shop for a while. I have been given gardening leave.” I said this to change the topic and to swing things over to my side a bit since I could now offer maybe an additional quarter of an hour to help around the house, for the next few weeks anyway.

“That's what I wanted to discuss with you.” She said. “I am going to be traveling for the next few weeks. You will need to hold fort here. My mother is coming over to help us."

It was as if decreed by God. My gardening leave would overlap almost exactly with her business travel. And for those few weeks, I would be in-charge. 

To help you understand the situation in its entirety, you first have to understand the political environment of our household. It is not simple to explain, but I will try. 

My wife runs the ship and I am the first mate. My four year old son is the leader of the rebellion and I am his lieutenant. My ten month old daughter runs her own free state within this set-up, much like the Vatican, even though enclosed by Rome, is a sovereign nation. If I were to forsake mixing politics and the navy, then in an extremely simplistic manner, my wife is the cat, my son and I are the mice and my daughter is whatever it is that takes her fancy at that moment in time.

Coming back to situation at hand, I was to be in-charge. 

I nodded my head gravely to make her believe that even though the burden was onerous, I would discharge my duties with care and diligence. The ship shall be run as she would have liked it to be run. In my head, I rubbed my hands with glee. I am a closet anarchist and for the next few weeks, I was going to declare our apartment to be the closet.

Day 1 

I awoke to a general feeling of pandemonium in the house. House of course is a misnomer here - we live in an apartment, suspended in the ether, it would have been, but for the column of apartments above and below us that the construction company had thoughtfully made.

As I was saying, I awoke to a general feeling of pandemonium in the house and I found out soon enough that feeling was well justified as pandemonium did reign in the house. For starters it was a half past five. That in itself was reason enough for an excellent day ahead. My son and daughter were awake, clamouring to be fed, comforted, played with and seeking assurances that school was, once and for all, finished. 

"Why?" was my first thought. Then I remembered. Today was the first day.

It is a commonly accepted fact that when the cat is away, the mice shall play and today, as my memory served me, the cat was away. Usually I would be very fine with that - but this time, I remembered to my chagrin, when she went away, she made me an interim cat. 

The day only got better. By late morning, my son had already missed four meals and been late to two schools. 

By afternoon I had torn up my list of things to do while on gardening leave (e.g. reorganize my song collection and create copies in two different formats, digitize all documents and create different back-ups of all data etc.) while my daughter had spent her first nap-less afternoon and wanted to issue her own currency.

By evening I was convinced my wife was running a scam - there was no way a single person could run this show. So either there was crucial information denied to me or that there was more than one of her. I settled on the latter and spent the rest of the evening looking for her clones.

Day 2

Clone search was unsuccessful. The wires I had discovered actually belonged to my own computer. I think my wife has taken her clones with her. Mother-in-law tells me my son was awake for two hours after he tucked me into bed. I think she was being funny. I resolve not to fall asleep in son's bed, especially since he kicked me to the floor very early in the morning. 

Daughter tried to eat my mobile phone. Timely call by unknown guy selling insurance scared her into spitting out phone. She has added demands for a flag along with the earlier demand for her own currency. 

Wrote to wife asking her if she was fine. She wrote back asking me if everything was fine. I hope she doesn't know. I hope she gets a bad dream and comes back home.

Day 3

I need to outsource myself. My son and daughter have taken over the government. Threats that my wife used have ceased to cause any dent in the activities of my son. 


"I will get mama to give away all your toys if you don't finish lunch!" I threatened. 


"But mama is not here..." he countered. He has successfully called my bluff and I had to back down. He has decreed a diet based almost exclusively on chocolate and it's derivatives for four year old boys in the household. 

I was better off a mouse. Being a cat is no good. Worst of all, I need to decide the menu - what gets cooked when. The whole thing is a mess.


I discovered today he has a device inside him that turns mass into energy. He eats a spoonful of something and can run on it - literally run, crawl, jump, shout without a nap for the rest of the day till bedtime. When I go to office, I see him at the fag end of the day for a couple of hours when his batteries are running low. Spending the whole day with him means I nod off before he does when I tuck him into bed. School for four year-olds should be longer than three hours and it should involve 'logging for new lumberjacks' or some such activity that can tire him out when he gets home.


Day 5
I discovered a small something of what it takes to be a cat and regained some sort of governance over the household. I told my son I would give his toys away if he did not eat his dinner. He realized I am very much here and not traveling. Dinner was finished in record time. 
Maybe I can do this stuff.


Met a friend for a drink later when kids were asleep. He told me there is a school of thought that believes one should keep news of gardening leave to oneself and leave for office every day. It is good for one's morale and indexing one's song collection and digitizing all documents.


I thought it felt like cheating.


He countered that it was akin to good cheating, like conning someone into donating to charity.


It still feels like cheating.


Day 6
I am finally getting the hang of being a cat. My son gives me confused, reproachful looks as if I have gone over to the dark side. So now I have to deal with his rebellions as well. My son and daughter have reached some sort of a pact - I am sure of it. He runs me to the ground during the day and she keeps me awake for large parts of the night.


Everything is a blur.


I want to go back to work. Corporate life seems a dream compared to raising children. Wife also manages to do a job somehow. I am convinced there are more than two of her. She should have left a couple of clones behind to help me. A few more days before she is back. Then I'll take a nap.