What If We Lost the Real Story Behind Kochi’s Famous Chinese Fishing Nets?

Dearest gentle reader, it is I, Aroo, resident tabby feline and matriarch, here at cats of Kochi, coming to you once again with my meows of wisdom. Today's tale is one of fond reminiscence and of a kinship long forgotten.

The other day I heard my housemate Ginger blabber on about the “rich cultural history” of Fort Kochi–something about murals and art and humans painting walls that no one asked them to. It made me remember stories from my kittenhood, when my mother would groom me and my siblings after breakfast, smoothing our fur with such precision you'd think we were royal scrolls being unrolled for inspection.

One tale in particular stayed with me– it’s one of those that makes you puff up a little, sit a little taller, twitch your whiskers with pride. It helped me appreciate my ancestry even more than I already did.

This story begins on the breezy, sun-drenched shores of Fort Cochin in 1350. The sea, they say, was a deep sapphire back then, and the air carried the smell of salt, tamarind, and something always sizzling. My great-grandmother told it to my mother, she told it to me, and now–dear reader–I tell it to you.

My great ancestor came from the distant lands of China, paws padded with purpose and mystery. She was Mama Aroo– the very cat I was named after (which obviously explains a lot about my persona).

Mama Aroo wasn’t just any sea cat– a fierce sailor and expert fisher-feline, she had a nose that could detect tuna at ten nautical miles. Alongside her hooman, the famous Zheng He–yes, that Zheng He–she sailed the South Seas, meowing orders and napping through storms, her fur never out of place. Entering the courts of Kublai Khan, she reportedly mesmerized everyone with her swift moves, sharp claws, and complete disinterest in courtly protocol.

One crisp morning on the Malabar coast, after feasting on some unknown sea species with tentacles and a surprisingly juicy center, she was curling into a nap on the golden sands of Fort Kochi when she sensed movement. A small human boy–a fisherman's son–tiptoed toward her, clutching a dead fish in both hands like it was the moon itself. He placed it near her ginger-striped tail.

Now, Mama Aroo was full, content, and frankly, mildly insulted this human thought she of all cats would need assistance fishing. But she was also wise. She saw the gesture for what it was–an awkward offering of friendship. And perhaps a cry for help.

She noticed his tangled net beside him and realized how inefficient it was. What a waste of opposable thumbs! She drew for him one of the latest models of the fishing nets they used back in Yunnan with her sharp claws, right there on the seashore. Elegant. Efficient. Ingenious. It glistened in the sunlight like a gift from a sea goddess.

The boy looked at her as if she’d grown a second head. Or worse–asked him to take a bath! He ran off, feet kicking up the sand, only to return moments later with his skeptical father.

By then, Mama Aroo had completed her stretch, licked her left paw three times for good measure, and was on her way back to her napping rock, but she paused for this curious exchange.

The father refused to believe a cat drew it–it wasn’t the custom for cats to indulge humans like that. We usually prefer the opposite arrangement. Even so, taking his son to be some sort of humble genius, they brought her drawing to life in the next couple of days.

It worked. Oh, how it worked. And the boy? He was so moved by the gift that he returned every morning with fish for her. Sometimes even the fancy ones. They became friends–he’d sit beside her, tracing patterns in the sand, while she squinted into the horizon like a weathered sailor plotting stars.

When she saw how much her presence had blessed them, Mama Aroo decided to stay with these new humans and bid farewell to her Chinese humans, retiring early from her post of Head Seafarer and claiming a new corner of the world for herself. She became a local legend, though–as is the case with so many of our kind–the credit went elsewhere.

And that, gentle reader, is the true story of how my glorious ancestor brought Fort Kochi one of its most famous treasures: me, Aroo.

Oh, also, the Chinese fishing nets.

More on the "hooman" historicity: