How I Got Totally Swindled by a Cat

Recently a cute, skinny, gray kitten appeared in my driveway, nearly inviting himself into my car and house in his attempts to convince me that he was starving and in dire need of my help. Being an animal lover and compete idiot, I served up a big bowl of food and marveled over the starving kitten as he gulped kibble by the mouthful. I felt good about providing food and water to an obviously needy animal, but I was concerned about the cat returning.

Naturally, he did.

As he continued to show up and eat often, I became more and more concerned. When I noticed cloudiness on one eye, that settled it. I was not going to let this poor kitten go blind because no one cared.

I started contacting rescue groups and shelters, but the prognosis was grim. Despite the fact that I estimated him to be less than six months old, no one wanted to get involved with a cat that might have an upper respiratory infection. I did find people that were willing to help me with the bill if I took the cat to the vet, but that seemed pretty impossible. How do you make an appointment for an animal that comes and goes as it pleases? I couldn’t bring the kitten into my house because my own immuno-suppressed cat would be at risk.

Besides, truth be told, I’m not even a big fan of cats. They scratch things and puke from high places. My own cat has a penchant for eating non-food items like plastic bags, ribbon, and occasionally socks. You can never find a cat when you need it but when you don’t it’s lying on your chest. They’re weird critters, although I respect them and appreciate their grace, agility, and beauty.

I did not need another cat, but that didn’t keep me from being worried sick about this one.

As a last-ditch effort, when my mother-in-law came over on Sunday to visit, she watched Hayden while I went door to door in my neighborhood, looking for someone who may have gotten lost their cat or who might want to take responsibility for this one. The most likely candidates, an elderly couple with at least one cat of their own, weren’t home, so I left a message on their door.

When the neighbor called, the wife said that indeed they owned a gray cat, but it wasn’t a male kitten… it was a 17-year-old female cat. Although I didn’t believe we were discussing the same animal, I told her I’d bring the cat over the next time he appeared. He showed up immediately after the phone call, so I carried him over to the nice neighbors…

…who said, “Ogeedie! What are you doing begging for food from strangers?"?

Ugh!

Apparently Ogeedie, who was so named by a then-18-month-old boy who loved Yogi Bear but couldn’t say the name, wasn’t fond of dietary changes encouraged by her veterinarian. Instead of eating the prescribed food, she decided to starve herself, and then eventually thought that perhaps someone else in the neighborhood had better food. And of course, she was right.

In my defense, Ogeedie, whom I obviously had never seen in my one-and-a-half years of living in this neighborhood, is an exceptionally small cat, and is still in great shape for her age, aside from being thin. She perched atop my six-foot-tall privacy fence several times, which is something I doubt my much-younger cat could do. But the fact that I thought a girl cat was a boy cat, well, I have no explanation for that. I’m an idiot.

I now have an even greater respect for felines. An elderly, well-cared for cat (who had already seen a vet for her eye problem, by the way) convinced an overly sympathetic soul to give her good tasting cat food by playing the role of a homeless, starving kitten. Pretty smart.

Now get off my damn porch.