| Friday, October 18, 2002 |
 On Tuesday, the 15th, we went back to our old apartment to collect up the very last of our things and turn in the keys. When we were at the apartment the previous Saturday for HOURS cleaning we saw no sign of "our stray" (if that's not an oxymoron), Wally. We have for some time wanted to rescue him, get him vetted, and retire him to a feral farm on the Eastern Shore operated in part by ASAP, where I volunteer. Now, time had run out...over the last month, we've try on many occasions to humanely catch/trap him. We've tried the humane trap, but he's too smart--he wouldn't go inside (the one time he did, he stepped over the trip mechanism). Since he wouldn't enter a trap, I tried to gingerly drop laundry baskets over him, but he's too fast.
Sadly, over those last several days living at the old apartment we didn't see Wally at all. I wondered if I'd even get to say "goodbye." As I said, Saturday was no exception--we hadn't seen hide nor hair of him. I half thought to myself that he looked in the windows at the empty apartment, somehow understood we'd moved, and maybe feeling abandoned by us...left for good himself. "Perhaps..." I thought filled with guilt that he went off to die of loneliness and starvation or thirst without us. 
But Tuesday night, when we arrived there Wally was in the bushes waiting patiently for us. He saw us--recognized us--when we pulled up. By the time I opened the patio door blinds, Wally was sitting by the door waiting to be fed as usual. He'd caught us off guard again--we really didn't expect him to show up. We had left behind a plate of food food that we'd used in the humane trap (Saturday) as bait that hadn't worked (again!), and the plate was clean. We hadn't brought any more food for him. Phil quickly ran up to the local 7-11 and bought three packages of the Whiskas food for him. Again, we tried to lured him inside to rescue him. He just patiently stared at us and the food as if to say, "Just how dumb do you think I am?" We moved the food to the patio. Thinking that if he relaxed and began eating, we could throw a sheet over him and catch him that way. Again, he wasn't buying it. He wanted the food on the patio wall ledge where he could eat with complete access to escape routes. Our final attempt was the risky grab. Phil lunged and tried grabbing him by the scruff. Too smart, to fast and too muscular, he quickly twisted and was out of the hold without anyone getting hurt. That may be the last time we'll see him. My heart was broken. It still is. I plan to speak with the Alexandria Animal Control/Protection to see if they maybe trained professionals can rescue him. If they can catch him, I can find him a place to live out his life. I hate the thought that his last impression of us was trying to grab him. Or that he will return night after night to peer in the empty apartment looking for us and our kitties, waiting for food and occasionally the treat of a little milk and fresh water. In addition to all the other reasons Wally was special, is the fact that he is a marmalade tabby--my favorite breed of cat (see my baby Tuner, too)--and I swear on all that is feline, one of the sweetest breeds. We'd only been able to pet him a few times in the two years we'd been feeding him, but he still became a regular--if somewhat distant and wild--family member. I tell myself now that "he was a wild kitty; wild like the squirrels or raccoons, which we do not try to trap, neuter and relocate." But then, the squirrels and raccoons never became so dependent on us. Sad and teary I tried to comfort myself by the thought that he was wild and free and a scrapper. He'd taken care of himself before we arrived and probably could again. Still mortality statistics about outdoor versus indoor cats ran through my head. Phil and I reminisced about him as we drove further away from him and his stomping grounds around the complex. All those thoughts still stirring in my head, even after a Buffy episode, I went to sleep. It was a fitful sleep. And I had a dream...I dreamed of Sunshine's coffin of ashes now sitting on our fireplace mantle. Sunshine, the other orange tabby I had to say goodbye to much too soon. In the dream I saw it fall from the fireplace. A big chip came out of the bottom and ashes spilled. Then, a seal apparently where the box and lid were glued tight, had split apart.  At first, when I peered through the open space not more than a quarter of an inch, I saw ashes topped with cat nails and teeth (which remain even after cremation). But when I looked again, it was like looking into a small room in there. I saw Sunshine laying on his side, head up and ears perked--a posture Rusty often takes as well (right). He was sad. I could see it, and I could feel it. He was trapped in the little box, just laying on his sad. And somehow I felt Wally there too. It was haunting, painful and seemed an eternity. Thankfully I was awakened from this nightmare by a type of crash--Marble, our eldest kitty, had pulled the table cloth, and thus all the items on it, onto the floor in a remarkably timed boom. I never did really get back to sleep well that night at all. I continued to wake up at every noise that night...and managed avoided any more dreadful REM-sleep that night.
Update: I spoke with Alexandria Animal Control/Protection and was told that if we couldn't capture Wally, they stood little chance of accomplishing it. The woman I spoke with was nice and tried to be helpful. She said that while I could send a flyer/letter with photos and information in case Wally is caught or turned in, she couldn't say if it would help or if they would actually contact us. We would have to somehow prove "ownership" in order to get him turned over to us. "It would be someone else's call." She suggested I contact Metro Ferals, which I will do later. [ ] |
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