Scammed! How I was conned by a woman who promised to sell me a kitten

As a seasoned journalist, YOU’s PIETER VAN ZYL felt he was wise to scams. But keen to find a kitten to fill the hole in his heart left by the passing of his beloved pet, he fell prey to an unscrupulous woman. This is his cautionary tale.

IWAS heartbroken when my cat died. Grietjie helped ease the lockdown blues, lying in a patch of sunlight on my desk and watching me while I worked. Sometimes she’d sit on the windowsill gazing at the sea with me. Her spot is empty now and whenever I look up from my laptop, I can see the small red urn containing my beautiful sphinx cat’s ashes. To cope with the loss, my partner and

I decided to get a new kitten as soon as possible. But with South Africa in the midst of the second wave of Covid-19, we decided to play it safe and search online rather than actually going to a breeder.

We type six words into Google: “Reputable sphinx breeder South Africa deliver.”

Hers is the first search result to pop up. According to her website, she has three females and two males available.

We call the number on the site and tell her about our loss. In a strong British accent, she promises us she’ll have a “little girl” ready for us within a week.

The woman sends pictures and we choose an adorable kitten sitting on a striped blanket, staring up at the camera. That’s the one, we decide – her big blue eyes have already stolen our hearts. We’ll call her Ella.

We’re told we need to pay a deposit of R1 800 to “reserve” her and I send proof of payment via WhatsApp. A few minutes later, the woman responds: “Got it.”

Now to figure out how to get Ella from the breeder in Heidelberg, Western Cape, to her new home in Cape Town. I’m in luck: an old schoolfriend and his family are returning to the Mother City via Heidelberg and he’ll pick up the kitten for us.

I text the breeder, telling her my friend will be at her house between 2pm and 3pm the next day.

She doesn’t respond until the next morning. “Sorry, didn’t get your message, was already sleeping. Today we’re not available – we’re doing local deliveries

’I transfer the money and send her proof of payment. And that’s the last time she reads my WhatsApps’

and will only be home in the evening.”

But, she adds, she has a reliable courier service we could use instead. However, the balance of the purchase price plus the cost of the courier must be paid first. All in all, R5 750.

My partner is suspicious and insists on driving to Heidelberg to check. He calls later and says the address checks out but there’s no one there.

I’m not too worried – she said no one would be home all day. And earlier she’d sent her ID, which showed the picture of a blonde woman. Convinced it’s legit, I transfer the balance of the money and send her proof of payment.

And that’s the last time she reads my WhatsApps.

By 2.20pm the next day I’m frantic and text her again. “Please send me the courier’s number. Where’s Ella?”

I beg, I threaten, but I’m met with nothing but silence. How could I have been so stupid?

IFIND out at least six of my friends have had similar experiences with various so-called breeders. It’s cruel: pets are so important during this time, giving comfort and companionship in a world gone wrong. To know there are people capitalising on the desperation of others is awful. I call the police but they say they’re not equipped to deal with cybercrime. I’ll never see my money again. I decide to try again – my heartache when I see my cat’s urn is just too much. A friend sends me a link to a SA website that sells pedigree cats and there’s a picture of a kitten called Tammy that’s the spitting image of Grietjie. She costs R3 500. I get in touch and tell the breeder all about Grietjie’s death and how we were scammed. “OMG. I’m very sorry about that,” she responds via WhatsApp. Tammy, she assures me, will be in our home soon – but she needs R4 000, including delivery, and she needs half now so she can get “the papers done”. I’m in Cape Town, they’re in Bloemfontein. I ask for the address and discover she’s just around the corner from where another friend lives. I call her and she says she’ll check out the address. Within minutes she’s on the phone: “No, no, no – it’s a scam. I confronted the people and they admitted they don’t really sell pets.” At least this time I didn’t part with any cash but my faith in humanity is shot – or it is until I hear that, while all this drama has been going on, a group of friends have clubbed together to buy me a kitten. They’ve found a breeder in Cape Town and someone visits her to ensure she has kittens. We need to wait three months to make sure they’re all healthy and successfully weaned. I’ve learnt my lesson. I’m a bit poorer, a lot more disillusioned, but much wiser. In a nutshell: don’t trust anyone.

ABOVE: Grietjie, the writer’s hairless sphynx cat who died suddenly due to an aneurysm. She was almost 10 years old. LEFT: During last year’s lockdown Pieter mostly worked from home. Grietjie was at his side 24/7.

RIGHT: The picture a scam artist sent of a sphynx cat, Ella, that was up for adoption. But first there were a few payments due. The day Ella was due to arrive came and went, but her delivery never materialised. It was later discovered this exact picture was used in another scam to try and swindle other cat lovers out of their cash.