Jack’s Alley poignant reminder
I spotted him down the walkway.
He lived three doors down and every time I went to Chartwell Square I would walk down the walkway hoping I would see Jack the ginger Manx kitten.
He was beautiful. I named him Milly but when the wife busted my feline affair, she named him Jack because he ran like a rabbit, and it stuck.
Jack was small and a little worse for wear and tear. I made excuses to go to Chartwell so I could give him some food on the way home.
Jack loved it, munching the crunchy dry food I left for him.
Slowly Jack gained condition and confidence and looked happier and healthier for my food and loving pats and chats. I went down the alley often just to see him.
Over the weeks I noticed Jack always had stains on his rear legs. Some quick searching confirmed Manx cats, because of their genes, were sometimes incontinent and Jack was one of those. The gene that had removed his tail had removed his ability to keep himself dry.
This was likely the reason he was abandoned.
After a few weeks, Jack decided he would move in. I placed a box outside in the alcove that would keep him warm and dry. I said goodnight to him every night as he settled in enjoying the attention and the love he wasn’t getting at home.
Sometimes he would be there in the morning, but other times he would be down the alley waiting for me to arrive.
We would walk all the way together down the alley and Jack would wait for me to return with snacks. He was getting bigger and stronger (and sillier) and more playful with every visit.
Then the day came I had been dreading. I knew where Jack lived, it was right next door to the walkway to Chartwell. I went down to the walkway for chats and kitten cuddles ‘‘… just getting some milk …’’ I said. I wasn’t. I was going to have some fun with Jack.
The alley was less than a minute’s walk away and as I got there I noticed the empty house. Jack was gone. His house was empty with Venetian blinds hanging down at odd angles so you could see through the dirty window.
I was distraught. This incontinent ginger Manx kitten was now somewhere else and I didn’t know where. I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye.
For the next 24 hours I was about as sad as a man could be. I moped around the house pining for Jack, the funny, curious ginger fur-ball who had brought so much love and laughter into my life.
Two days later, I got in the car and backed out the drive to go to work, still wondering where Jack had gone. I hoped he was happy and might remember our hide-and-seek fun and chats down the Chartwell alley.
As I backed out the drive, I looked in the rear view mirror and saw a familiar face looking back at me down the drive. There, full fur faced in the rear-view mirror, was Jack!
I leapt out of the car and ran to him
It was a happy reunion and this time Jack the ginger Manx cat would be loved and he would live with us. He would not be left behind to fend for himself ever again.
and picked him up and cuddled him like no other. I didn’t care he still smelled of cat pee. His owners had moved and left him behind.
It was a happy reunion and this time Jack the ginger Manx cat would be loved and he would live with us. He would not be left behind to fend for himself ever again.
As the next few weeks unfolded with Jack I learned more about Hamilton people who callously abandon their pets.
The numbers of abandoned animals are increasing as people move and rental accommodation allowing pets becomes increasingly difficult to find.
Local tertiary students wanting short term pet fun are also creating problems. International students love the novelty of pets, but when they return home at the end of study, the animals are left behind.
Animal abandonment is a major problem for Hamilton animal welfare groups as cats and dogs are discarded by casual owners who can’t provide forever homes.
Few like Jack get a second chance at life. Many are left to forage for themselves.
Owning animals (or allowing them to own us) is not a casual or short term relationship. Jack was lucky.
EPILOGUE
box empty. I saw his tail-less ginger butt in the green rubbish bin across the road. I thought he was playing.
I walked across the road and halfway there I felt the dread hit. Jack wasn’t moving. Jack was dead. He had been hit by a car and had been placed in the rubbish.
I put up a small sign in the walkway from Rutherford St to Chartwell Square to honour Jack’s short life – it reads ‘‘Jack’s Alley’’ and is still there today, weatherbeaten and worn.
This column is for Jack and all the abandoned Hamilton animals who don’t get a chance at a forever home.
Forever in purrs, Jack-Boy. Forever in purrs …