Kitty Caper Chapter 2: Mysterious collar
When the temperatures dipped down to freezing on those early days of December, I was seriously contemplating my next moves with the orange kitty. The cat had been sleeping on my picnic table most nights for about a month. When I ventured outside to protect my plants from frost, it was difficult not to show the kitty what a warm place could feel like. I had already written my phone number on a Dollar Store collar and put the collar on the cat’s neck. No one called.
However, there might be someone just down the street standing in their bathrobe on a front porch calling sadly into the night for a lost cat.
At some point, I made a bold move and put flea medicine on the nape of the cat’s neck. I planned to wait one day (for the fleas to vacate the amazingly lush, orange coat) and then see if the cat could tolerate the inside of a house.
The very next night the cat was a no-show.
As I walked around with a flashlight, wearing my bathrobe and sadly calling for the cat, I found a different collar on the ground and this one had someone’s else’s phone number written in Sharpie pen.
My mind sprinted to the worst case scenario. Someone loved the cat and finally noticed it was wearing some stranger’s collar. This cat-lover took my collar off the cat, and replaced it with their own collar.
If I called the phone number I might hear a tirade about my lack of character and the lowdown bad business of trying to move in on another person’s cat.
A more romantic version of the story had the cat scratching off the previous owner’s collar in defiance. The cat really did love ME, ME, ME — or at least my picnic table.
To protect my tender heartstrings I had to resign myself to the idea that maybe this was just not meant to be. I have survived greater disappointments. If all I was allowed was a few weeks of friendship … As long as the cat was safe and cared for, I should move on to a new chapter.
I was nervous when I called the phone number on the collar I found in the yard.
The woman who answered is named Sharon.
I should have started the conversation with something more coherent than “I found your phone number in my yard.”
The collar, my picnic table, I swear I didn’t feed it wet food …
Sharon was even more befuddled the more I spoke.
Finally, we agreed I should walk the half a