A Paw-sible Theory

“If cats could talk, they wouldn’t.”

––Nan Porter

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: Star Witness Returns

Thursday, five days after Pooky disappeared, low clouds grounded the flight school students at the nearby airport, making it a quiet day over Beachside. Mindful of the fact that no one can force a cat to do anything he doesn’t want to do; I simply had to wait for Pooky to make the decision to come in. The way I figured it, she was probably ready to do that anytime now.

Misty had the watch, and she confessed as soon as it happened that she had dozed off and missed Pooky’s return. She said the rain made her tired and she closed her eyes for just a minute, and when she opened them, she saw a flash of black fur sliding out of the screened porch.

I was disappointed, but my comment was positive. “It’s good that she showed herself. Maybe if it keeps raining she’ll call it quits.”

As I predicted, later that morning, a bedraggled Pooky slid through the partially-open screen door. I motioned to Misty to slip away as we had previously discussed. Pooky looked a little thinner and dirtier, but okay otherwise. I watched unobtrusively from inside as she hungrily ate––pausing to look around before she took a drink. Familiar with the handicap, I knew how hard it must have been for her to catch anything to eat outdoors without claws.

I lay on my side, facing her, my non-aggressive stance signaling that I wouldn’t harm her. When it appeared that she was finished, I slowly got up, slipped through the cat door, kept a comfortable distance between us, and allowed her time to rest. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Misty edging closer and I gave her a look. A slash of my tail confirmed I was serious. Misty moved away, but not too far.

I stayed crouched by the cat door, and kept my eyes on both Pooky and Misty. As soon as Pooky woke up, Misty rushed out. Believing she was under attack, Pooky followed her natural instincts and ran. I charged after her.

With no destination in mind, Pooky zigzagged across the yard, slithering under bushes and around trees, until she suddenly stopped. A raccoon––bigger and heavier than us––slowly traversed the yard just a few feet away, maybe on his way to or back from searching garbage cans, or pets’ food bowls left outside.

For a few tense moments, we stared at one another trying to gage the degree of threat each presented. With razor sharp claws on human-like hands, raccoons are vicious fighters who do attack pets. I didn’t see any reason to prove that point. I backed up slowly and recommended Pooky do the same, allowing the raccoon to pass through. She trotted back to the house, and I followed at a quick pace, frequently looking over my shoulder, ready to stand and fight, if necessary. Apparently, the raccoon didn’t intend to detour from his course and continued on his path.

It was much later, after everyone had calmed down, that I found out what had happened on Saturday morning before Pooky ran away.

Her story was that she was relaxing on the floor behind my chair when a lizard crossed in front of her. She was bored and thought it would be fun to chase it around for a bit. She was right behind it as it scuttled into the kitchen. Alyx was sitting at the kitchen table with her back to the dining room doorway––she may have heard Pooky, but she didn’t see her. I asked Pooky to demonstrate what she did and ushered the girls into the kitchen.

Pooky looked up to where the pot had been. She demonstrated that she had jumped up on the counter and leaped to the top of the wall cabinet, lost her balance, and knocked the pot down. Then, she had run back into the dining room, hid under the hutch and stayed there until she had the opportunity to run out.

As far as I was concerned, what had happened was an accident. I still didn’t understand why Pooky had run away. She explained that when her former humans first brought her home with them as a kitten, they were very understanding of cat behaviors, but as she got older, they became more intolerant. They became very angry when she scratched their brand-new coffee table and ruined their sheer drapes. She knew they didn’t want her climbing on things, but she couldn’t help it and a few of their items got broken.

At that point, she seemed unsure if she should continue, and I encouraged her to go on; I wanted to hear the rest of the story.

She thought her former owners were playing a game with her when they let her out of the car. She thought they wanted her to play in the tall grass, but the car left just as she bounded away. She ran back to the spot where her humans had left her and waited for them to come back for her. They never did.

That first day out in the unfamiliar setting was very scary and unsettling for a young cat that had only known a cage at an animal shelter, and then a comfortable home. Pooky had no idea where she was or what she should do. Tired and hungry, she moved away from the road and found a sheltered spot under a palmetto bush. She couldn’t stop trembling as she tried to remember some key points about being outdoors and hunting for food, but there wasn’t much to remember. Separated from her mother at a very young age, she had not received any of the training a cat usually gets from its mother. All she knew about hunting was what she had heard from some of the cats she had lived with before her adoption.

She fondly remembered one sage tiger cat talking about what it was like living outdoors. He had belonged to a colony of feral cats. That was the only way of life he knew and he missed it terribly. The tiger cat liked to re-live the good times by telling the younger cats about his hunting expeditions, making it sound easy and fun. Pooky decided while she was out there in the open, that she would try some of the tactics that Mr. Tiger had told them about the next morning. In the meantime, she would stay put––maybe by then the trembling would stop. Morning came and went and she still had not moved. When her body was finally still, the hunger pangs stirred her to explore the area. As she skulked about, she munched on leaves of plants that looked okay to eat, although she didn’t know much about that either. She hoped she wouldn’t eat anything that made her sick––or worse––poison her.

She haltingly moved through the vegetation, hiding every time she heard an unfamiliar sound. Her long luxurious fur started tangling, and eventually pulled out as she slid through dead branches and thick bushes.

She did catch a few insects––one baby lizard during the day––but by evening, her stomach was growling, and her mouth was dry. She heard some chirping up ahead, and silently approaching, she saw three small birds feeding on the ground. She tried the hide-wait-pounce method Mr. Tiger had described, but it didn’t work; the birds flew out of reach.

And so it went for the rest of the night and the following day as she trekked through what she thought was a never-ending jungle, but knew from the sounds and smells that she was not far from human habitats.

She looked around for a sheltered place to rest and found a hole created by a pile of debris, supported by two large branches. Some mice were exploring the area nearby and this time her hide-wait-pounce method netted her a baby mouse for dinner, and on her meandering walk back to the hideout, she found a ditch that still had a trickle of water left from the rain earlier in the week which allowed her to quench her thirst.

Full for the first time in days, she began to think that maybe she would be okay after all. Safe in her hideout, she thought how nice it would be if she could find a clowder to join as Mr. Tiger had found.

The lively meowing in the distance tempted her to cautiously venture out of her hideout. She approached quietly and kept out of sight, observing the small group of cats. They didn’t look as well kept or well fed as Mr. Tiger had led her to believe outdoor cats would look like. They didn’t look any better than she did––and she knew she looked awful. As soon as the feral colony became aware of her presence, the cats tensed and the biggest of the group––a tortoise male––stepped forward and turned in her direction. Apparently, Mr. Tiger had forgotten to mention that feral cats didn’t accept stray cats into their colonies.

Pooky slowly backed up, her heart beating in her ears, and when a safe distance away, ran as fast as her weakened body would let her until she was safe back in her hole. She curled her body tight, and buried her face in her paws, blotting out the harsh reality.

Things didn’t get any better over the next two weeks. She had trouble catching anything as her clawless paws made it almost impossible for her to hold on to anything but the smallest mammals. The insects and vegetation she ate weren’t enough to sustain her and the water supply was gone. She became weaker and weaker to the point where even the parasites she had acquired, left her body, because there was less and less for them to feed on. She kept losing weight and was literally skin and bones.

Eventually, she did find some kind humans who gave her food and water when she appeared at their door but not enough to sustain her ravaged body and by the time she found Alyx, she was dying. She knew she owed Alyx her life and was profoundly sorry for what had happened.

Saturday, when she heard the pot break, she feared that Alyx would want to get rid of her and bring her to one of those humane places that no one ever wants to talk about, even if someone does make it out alive. When she heard that Alyx was hurt, she thought she might have a better chance outdoors on her own.

I let her know that it didn’t bother me so much what she thought of Misty and me, but she should have known better than to think Alyx would get rid of her because of the accident; she wasn’t like that.

Pooky lowered her head, and apologized again. Pooky said she couldn’t let Ethan be locked up for something he didn’t do, and insisted that she wanted to do something to make up for the problems she had caused. She was sincere, and I sincerely needed help; I couldn’t be in two places at once and some places not at all.

Pooky said she could help with that. While living on the street, she’d made some friends in the neighborhood. She suggested that since the weather was so nice, most windows would be open and it would be no problem for a cat to hear a conversation going on inside.

I kept pacing, frustrated to have solved the case and not be able to free Ethan. In reality, what human was going to take me seriously? As Pooky stated, humans have limited imagination and since I couldn’t read, write, or talk, I was just a cat who looked and behaved like any other cat. Chances were that the expensive lawyer David Hunter would keep doing what he did, spinning his wheels and coming up with nothing. Hunter had said that putting Alyx on the stand was Ethan’s best chance, even though she hadn’t seen who had hit her. He said her testimony would weigh heavily with the jury, but would it be enough to keep Ethan from serving jail time?

I had no choice. I had to show Alyx what had happened, even if it might make me look guilty––which the girls were quick to point out.

There was an audible silence while I paced, thinking that I had to know what Hunter had uncovered so I would know what to do next––what information to communicate, to whom and how, and most important, I needed to know if there was anything immediate going on that threatened Alyx or Ethan’s safety.

I told Pooky I welcomed anything she could do to help.