Why Saving Stray Cats is Just Not For Everyone
( There will be a ridiculous amount of cat pictures in this post to shamelessly attract you to reading this)
For the last month of my occupancy at my prior residence, my neighbor, who nicknamed Crackhead Mike, decided to befriend me over our common disdain for our landlord. Crackhead Mike was harmless most of the time, and was only really a nuisance when he smoked too many drugs and invited over the community hobos. Over that last month he took great pride in meeting me at the fence that separated our domains, bitching incessantly about the new ailment he has. This particular day he chose to tell me of the cat, Blacky, that he inadvertently adopted after he was abandoned by one of the 15 other neighbors that rented from that Triplex within the past year.
Blacky what is your typical stray cat, being friendly enough to convince you to want to buy cat food for him comma but fair enough to not let you pet him for too long. During this conversation, Crackhead Mike informed me that Blacky had become pregnant at some point, and was due to deliver the babies at the end of the month. He didn't want to deal with the kittens, let alone even feed the mama cat, and reported that the landlord was going to have the kittens aborted. This was one of the strangest things that I heard. I never knew that they were giving out abortions to random feral cats that were wandering the neighborhood.
At the time during my discovery of the cat, I had become good friends with a co-worker who took pride in saving the feral cats of our office parking lot. I was genuinely interested in knowing if you could actually abort kittens, so I decided to text her and ask an expert. The response I received was not what I expected.
"You have to save the cats!" My co-worker exclaimed. She came up with a quick plan to trying to catch the cat, then get them to a local organization to be fixed and adopted out. Her in the organization decided it was the best fit to send me home with a cat box and try to get the cat into the box somehow. My coworker pulled up a quick YouTube video of how to put a cat in a cat box, then sent me on my way.
The next day I paid a visit to Crackhead Mike, and let him know of my plan to get the cat in the cat box, and find them a new home. This appeared to be shocking news two my dangerously close to homeless neighbor, antique contested right away. He wanted to keep the cat, he just didn't want to deal with all the kittens. I'll let him know that since he did not own the cat, I might as well just take it find a new place to live. He seemed upset with the decision I was making for him, but agreed to go along with it. When I contacted my landlord about it, she seemed more than excited about the opportunity for the cat to disappear altogether. She reported, "he didn't pay for the cat, it can go".
The next morning I walked outside with the cat box in hand, ready to catch me a cat. When I went outside I saw Crackhead Mike sitting on his front stoop with the cat in his lap. I thought to myself, this will be quick and easy. Just scoop the cat up and put them in the box. As I started to walk up to the neighbor and the cat, the count was immediately becoming scared with the situation at hand. Almost like Blacky knew what the cat box was for. The cat tried to flee for his life, but Crackhead Mike grabbed ahold of the cat. This in turned pissed off the cat,to the point the claws came out.
I watched Blacky launched her paws into the side of Crackhead Mike''s left cheek. The cat started to growl and hiss, but Crackhead Mike refused to let go. He was going to get the cat for me. It all happened so quickly that I screamed, "Put the cat down!". Crackhead Mike finally dropped Blacky, and ran to a safe space. Crackhead make it then fell to the ground. His wife came running out of the efficiency apartment to help him. I didn't know what to do. So I started to ask him if he needed me to call an ambulance or for anyone for help.
"I think I am fine", he reported, but after the gruesome attack that I just witnessed, it was hard for me to believe that he didn't need anything at all.
"I will be right back!" I yelled, running towards my house. There had to be something I could do to try to help with this situation. Catching this dumb cat was my idea in the first place! As I am running towards my house he yells to me, "Don't call the cops!" Why the fuck would I call the cops? I wasn't trying to report a crime! It was a strange sentence to yell after a cat attack.
I ran into my house frantically looking for anything that could possibly help with the scratches. I found an expired bottle of Neosporin and 4 Band-Aids. Wow, I was super prepared if I needed some fucking first aid. I grabeen a kitchen towel for good measure and ran back over. As I ran up his wife was pouring a clear substance out of a brown bottle onto his face. Just directly out of the bottle. They reported that it was peroxide, but I really can't tell you what it was. He reported that he was fine and he might just go get checked out real quick bye the doctors. I urged him to go because he wasn't sure what that cat was carrying. He asked me to go ahead and notify the landlord that he might be gone a few hours. I wasn't sure the necessity to tell the landlord, but it was the least that I could do for making his cat attack him, so I immediately obliged.
As I dialed the landlord's phone number and heard the phone immediately begin to ring. Shit, I don't know Crackhead Mike's real name! The landlord picked up the phone, and I blurted, "Crackhead Mike got scratched by the cat and might go to the hospital".
"You know, Mike next door. With the cat, Blacky".
His name was Steve? It just didn't seem that could be his name. Crackhead Mike was seen so fitting. "Yeah, Steve said to tell you the cat scratched him and he was going to the doctor".
She seemed puzzled by the need for a phone call, and slowly relpied, "Ok?"
"Alright, thanks!" I quickly hung up before the landlord could follow up with anymore questions. I had felt so guilty for the cat situation, almost as if it were me that lodged my nails into the side of his face.
The next commumication I made was to my co-worker through text, feeling equally as guilty for not catching the cat. I ran through the details vaguely, explaining, "Couldn't catch Blacky, fucked up Steve", ready to explain the story in full when I arrived at work with an empty cat box. My coworker replied, "Who's Steve?!"
The day before I lefty residence I met Crackhead Mike back at our usual meeting grounds by the fence. He flagged me over, waving and yelling my name from his stoop. He had quite the story report. He replies, "So I caught Blacky humping the neighbors cat. Turns out Blacky had a full set of furry balls, and isn’t a female. The babies I thought was in his belly must be a bunch of worms just moving around."
If you enjoyed my little slice of paradise, please HIT THAT HEART! You can comment on my happenings, it can’t get any worse.