The cats: Part I

Ring. Ring. Ring. An unknown number across the screen. "This is Officer Snow from the XXX Police Department." Being as guilt-ridden as I am for no real reasons, these words paralyzed me from the inside out in an instant.

A few weeks ago I, through an unusual set of circumstances, learned that a finalized contentious divorce coupled with an impending home foreclosure left seven house cats lingering in a home no longer occupied by humans and in deplorable living conditions.

Two-foot high grass and the muted cloak of dusk gave the house a wild look, like it belonged on the prairie, on first inspection. By the time we got in the house, darkness masked the full horror. It looked as if the former inhabitants were awaken in the middle of the night by secret police who threw all the contents of their lives amid the rooms while scouring each inch for some priceless item and then forced the residents to leave.

Layers of school papers lay in haphazard stacks like carpet. Family framed photos shattered in half by lightening bolts littered the counters. Drawers pulled open like hungry mouths. Unknown objects threatened to harm at each turn, unidentifiable in the dark. Cat feces smeared on the floor, the walls, the lower cabinets.

Since not enough litter boxes had been provided by the "animal lover" and former owner, those there were spilling feces like cut-open guts. The litter boxes clearly hadn't been emptied in months and months. And months.

Older cat urine transformed to ammonia and fresh cat urine sprayed on walls, clothes piles, furniture and the floor saturated the house, my hair, my clothes. These innocent animals smelled as if they had been bathed in urine. Each pet of their fur resurrecting the stench.

The cats slinked from crevices, corners and other hiding spots in the shell of a home warming up to my female voice, my light step. They melted under my touch, begging for a rub of the head, scratch of the lower back. The isolation of these creatures skulking like a shadow among us.

I erupted into halting tears; my breathing coming in short gasps.

The man I was with the ex-husband clearly was no fan of cats and transferred his feelings of anger of his former wife onto the animals. I begged he continue feeding and giving them water until I could find a place for them. I went to the faucet and filled dirty bowls and poured cheap cat kibble left in the cupboard into other equally filthy dishes.

After weeks of back-and-forth, the animal loving ex-wife said her ex-husband should just leave the cats there. That they were fine. Despite the obvious, she also ignored the facts that the longer these cats (and kittens) remained alone in this indoor colony the greater the risk they revert to their instincts and become wild, i.e., unadoptable.

She also alleged spewed the foolish thought that the bank would not take possession of the home--my biggest fear--even though the mortgage hadn't been paid for a year and a half. I suffered nightmares that a cleaning crew hired by the bank would be dispatched to the home and upon seeing the cats would scare them out onto the street.

I had to be in action. I only hoped it was the right thing.

Part II tomorrow.




©L'uragana