In every town live sadists who
This is hardly news, since many of these monsters are more than happy to advertise. You've even seen some of their websites. When you were a little girl, everyone knew it was wrong to hurt animals. These days, people showcase their depravities. It's sickening.
The fondest wish of these psychopaths is to torture, mutilate, and murder any cats they can lay hands on. What's to dissuade them from acting out their fantasies? A cat can't identify its attacker. It can't call the police. Even in those rare occasions that the culprits are found, everyone knows the penalties are a joke.
But you'd never call the county to pick up neighborhood strays. The animal shelters are always full. And even when there is space, we all know what happens to the poor kitties who don't get adopted within 30 days.
So you do the only sensible thing. You put out bowls of food and water every morning. You speak gently to them. You let them know that there are some humans they can trust. Soon the local strays begin to trust you. After a few weeks, some of them let you come close enough to pet them.
In 962, Baudouin III, count of Flanders flung live cats from the tower of his castle and began an annual tradition called Kattestoet (Dead Cats). This practice was discontinued 850 years later, in 1817.
Looks like this one has gone slightly feral. It was probably abandoned by its owners six or seven months ago, a year maybe. It's lucky to have made it this long. If not for its instincts, this kitty would have succumbed to a variety of outdoor dangers a long time ago.
Using a bath towel, you forcefully take hold of the animal. It struggles to get away. You have to use the towel, or in its panic it'll scratch you to ribbons. They always try to get away. They don't realize that you're probably their last hope in the world.
In 17th century Paris, the citizenry would torch baskets and barrels full of live cats as part of the Saint John's Day festival. In 1648, King Louis XIV lit the fire personally.
Inside your house, the kitties are safe. They have a nice warm place to live, with a family of other rescued cats. They live without fear of cars and dogs and all the lunatics and especially those so-called "shelters."
But it seems that for each cat rescued, another one shows up on your doorstep. It's almost as if they intuitively know where to find salvation.
They do freak out every once in a while. But you can hardly expect them to be on their best behavior. They've been traumatized. They can't remember what it's like to feel secure. Even if these cats don't like being indoors at first, at least you feel better knowing that at least they aren't going to wind up in some laboratory being vivisected.
In the 1680s, Londoners held annual anti-Catholic processions culminating with the roasting of a wicker effigy of the Pope stuffed with live cats. The Queen herself, Elizabeth I, regularly presided over these affairs.
Where are the kittens coming from?
For a minute you actually consider the possibility that a dozen kittens somehow slipped into your home when you weren't looking. Then you notice the mother carrying one by the neck. How many breeding pairs are there in here? That's a question you try to avoid.
Later, you notice a list on the refrigerator. It's in your handwriting, but you can hardly remember composing it:
- Only accept the healthy-looking.
- Flea treatment.
- Vet exam: FeLV & FIV screenings.
- Spay / neuter.
- Isolate the declawed ones.
You've been meeting those standards. The really important ones, anyway. Vet exams? For the ones who look like they might have viral infections, sure. Thank goodness there haven't been any of those.
You find one of your kitties curled up in a corner. It has passed over, probably from old age. It looks a little thin, but they all tend to lose weight in their advancing years. There isn't much time for a burial today, so you do the only logical thing. That's funny, you never noticed that the freezer was almost full. Guess it's been a while since the last memorial service.
But there hasn't been time for anything but essentials. The laundry is starting to pile up, and you think you remember where the vacuum cleaner probably is. Truth be told, your house is starting to get away from you a little bit. Fortunately, you don't have visitors. And when solicitors show up, you just pretend not to hear the doorbell.
Eventually you have to move out. Let's face it, the cats need the room and you need to run errands and do shopping like normal people. You spend as much time as possible at the old house, just to let them know there's nothing more important in your life. You make a regular habit of visiting them every other day to pour out more food and clean the litter. Except if it's raining. Or something important comes up.
When the police begin hauling away your kitties, it's just unbearable. They're being taken to their deaths. How can they possibly justify euthanasia instead of leaving them in your care? It's incomprehensible. Sitting in the squad car, watching the government take your kitties away, only one thought echoes endlessly through your mind:
Next time, buy a house with no neighbors.