Long ago, in the peaceful village of Gitithia, lived an old man named Kamau. He was known for his quiet ways, his wise sayings, and his unusual pet—a fat, tailless cat named Kipopo. Now, people in the village had seen all kinds of cats: spotted cats, striped cats, cats that hissed, cats that purred, and cats that stole food from cooking pots. But a cat without a tail? That was a mystery only Kamau could explain.
“Kipopo comes from the cold, faraway islands,” he would say while stroking the cat’s round back. “He may have no tail, but his heart is warm.” The villagers didn’t mind Kipopo the Manx cat. He wasn’t a troublemaker—at least not at first.
One hot season, a strange excitement swept through the cats of Gitithia. Whenever Kipopo left Kamau’s compound, he strutted like the king of felines—head high, chest forward, whiskers twitching like a drummer’s fingers. And everywhere he went, the village cats followed him: Sefu the black cat, Panya the ginger, Mrembo the spotted beauty, even old Kulutu who limped and sneezed. No one understood why. But the truth was simple: Kipopo had the charm of ten cats and the boldness of twenty.
Before long, Kipopo visited every corner of the village—behind granaries, under banana leaves, on top of chicken coops—and the other cats welcomed him like royalty.
Kamau did not know what his cat was doing. He was an old man; his eyes were dim, and his naps were long. Kipopo always returned before sunset and slept innocently at his master’s feet. But nature has no secrets forever.
Months passed. The moon completed her cycles. Then the cats of the village began giving birth. And the strangest thing happened. Kitten after kitten came into the world without a tail. Some had little stumps like thumb tips. Others had nothing at all—only smooth round backs like Kipopo.
Children ran through the village shouting: “Mama! Come and see! Another Kipopo is born!” “Baba! Look, look—this one is tailless too!” Soon the whole village buzzed with confusion and laughter. The elders scratched their heads. The women gossiped as they pounded millet. The men rubbed their chins like judges.
By the end of the season, Gitithia was flooded with Kipopo-lookalikes. Everywhere you turned—behind the cattle kraals, under the plouts trees, across the dusty paths—little tailless kittens hopped around like furry rabbits. Only then did the villagers understand what had happened.
One evening, under the great mutarakwa tree, the village elders held a meeting. Kamau was invited. He came slowly with his walking stick and with Kipopo trotting at his feet like a guilty child.
Njoroge cleared his throat. “Kamau,” he said, “your cat has gifted us an entire generation of tailless cats.” The villagers burst into laughter, except Kamau, who almost fainted with shock. Everyone looked at the old man with pity and amusement.
Then Kamande spoke, his voice deep like thunder; “Let this be a lesson to our young men. A traveler who leaves his seed everywhere he passes will one day return to a land full of his shadow— and not all shadows bring pride.” The village elders nodded.
Kipopo meowed loudly, as if protesting the accusation. But the decision of the elders was made. From that day, whenever a young man prepared to travel, marry, or visit far places, the elders would call him aside and say; “My son, do not be like Kipopo the Manx. Do not leave your offspring wherever you go.”
“Kipopo comes from the cold, faraway islands,” he would say while stroking the cat’s round back. “He may have no tail, but his heart is warm.” The villagers didn’t mind Kipopo the Manx cat. He wasn’t a troublemaker—at least not at first.
One hot season, a strange excitement swept through the cats of Gitithia. Whenever Kipopo left Kamau’s compound, he strutted like the king of felines—head high, chest forward, whiskers twitching like a drummer’s fingers. And everywhere he went, the village cats followed him: Sefu the black cat, Panya the ginger, Mrembo the spotted beauty, even old Kulutu who limped and sneezed. No one understood why. But the truth was simple: Kipopo had the charm of ten cats and the boldness of twenty.
Before long, Kipopo visited every corner of the village—behind granaries, under banana leaves, on top of chicken coops—and the other cats welcomed him like royalty.
Kamau did not know what his cat was doing. He was an old man; his eyes were dim, and his naps were long. Kipopo always returned before sunset and slept innocently at his master’s feet. But nature has no secrets forever.
Months passed. The moon completed her cycles. Then the cats of the village began giving birth. And the strangest thing happened. Kitten after kitten came into the world without a tail. Some had little stumps like thumb tips. Others had nothing at all—only smooth round backs like Kipopo.
Children ran through the village shouting: “Mama! Come and see! Another Kipopo is born!” “Baba! Look, look—this one is tailless too!” Soon the whole village buzzed with confusion and laughter. The elders scratched their heads. The women gossiped as they pounded millet. The men rubbed their chins like judges.
By the end of the season, Gitithia was flooded with Kipopo-lookalikes. Everywhere you turned—behind the cattle kraals, under the plouts trees, across the dusty paths—little tailless kittens hopped around like furry rabbits. Only then did the villagers understand what had happened.
One evening, under the great mutarakwa tree, the village elders held a meeting. Kamau was invited. He came slowly with his walking stick and with Kipopo trotting at his feet like a guilty child.
Njoroge cleared his throat. “Kamau,” he said, “your cat has gifted us an entire generation of tailless cats.” The villagers burst into laughter, except Kamau, who almost fainted with shock. Everyone looked at the old man with pity and amusement.
Then Kamande spoke, his voice deep like thunder; “Let this be a lesson to our young men. A traveler who leaves his seed everywhere he passes will one day return to a land full of his shadow— and not all shadows bring pride.” The village elders nodded.
Kipopo meowed loudly, as if protesting the accusation. But the decision of the elders was made. From that day, whenever a young man prepared to travel, marry, or visit far places, the elders would call him aside and say; “My son, do not be like Kipopo the Manx. Do not leave your offspring wherever you go.”
