The Curious Case of Mrs. Norris

So, here’s the thing.

I found Mrs. Norris.

Not the cranky and creepy Mrs. Norris from Austen’s Mansfield Park, but the cranky and creepy Mrs. Norris from Harry Potter, aka Filch’s cat.

Here I was, wondering whether the crazy cat is still prowling the corridors of the imaginary but awesome school of Hogwarts, when all of a sudden I realize she has been in India all along, and what do you know, she wasn’t even possessing her feline shape. She is, in fact, currently occupying the old, withering mortal vessel of my land-lady. Well, technically not my landlady, but her mother to be precise; who will henceforth be referred to as Lady Norris – (even though “lady” is a rather generous concession).

I cannot tell you how Lady Norris’s temperament was before Argus Filch’s fine companion decided to ditch him in pursuit of a life of harassing the youth of Delhi. But, what I can tell you is that I have never been more certain of the supernatural! It is possible! I have seen the misopedistic soul of Mrs. Norris sneering at me every time I turned around to find Lady Norris lurking behind me.

Lady Norris finds some sadistic pleasure out of sneaking up on people unannounced and scaring the bejeezus out of them. She displays blatant disregard for common social practices such as knocking, not staring at people to the point of discomfort or even not commenting about the amount of vegetables you have ladled onto your dinner-plate; and has a flair for ignoring obvious hints.

If ever you find yourself tempted to break one of her gazillion rules, even something as harmless as cracking open the window a tiny bit at 5 in the morning, to let some healthy breeze circulate in your room, well, take my advice and don’t. Lady Norris has an uncanny ability to sniff out misdemeanor and will be upon you within seconds, even when you could swear that she had been locked inside the basement only moments ago.

Though Mrs. Norris has never really revealed any particular fondness for shiny galleons, I am sure, had Hogwarts shared India’s economic conditions, she would surely have. And I can say this with such conviction because Lady Norris here never ignores an opportunity to squeeze out pennies from her hapless victims. If you do not believe me, you can try sneaking in a pair of socks into the washing machine, in the middle of the night. You will be accosted with a greasy palm demanding fifty bucks as laundry fee almost immediately. Incidentally the previous tenants of my humble abode had been caught red-handed trying to use the geyser for hot water in months that cannot strictly be classified under ‘winter months’. Till this day, I have had to pay for her indiscretion by having my mind rubbed raw and ears reeling from her hours of grumbling; which brings me to my ultimate directive – under NO circumstance should you ever engage her in a conversation. Unless, of course, you have an enemy on whom you want to inflict permanent cerebral impairment. In which case, you can expect a rather satisfying result.

Okay, I think I have been a little too harsh. Maybe she does have a heart-wrenchingly tragic romance in her past which haunts her till date, making the Lady a misanthrope. At least, that was what I sensed as I was surreptitiously entering the perimeter of my lodging yesterday after paying the “pizza guy” his due. I was, once again, startled by her lone figure sitting on the steps leading to the porch staring into the infinity with unblinking and seemingly lost eyes. My vivid imagination immediately started piecing together a pitifully anguished tale involving a reckless romance, a fleeing paramour and a broken heart.               

Even though her imagined yesteryears have warmed me to her just a little, here’s to hoping neither my land-lady nor Lady Norris ever happens across this blog entry. I sincerely DO NOT want minced roaches for dinner. Ever.