by syaffolee

Fuzzy Stuff

During a small bit of free time, I was about to sit down to attempt work on an outline for the kamikaze novel I do every November, when I heard a mewling sound outside my apartment door.

This is nuts, I thought. I’m just hearing things.

The mewling continued.

So I put on my running shoes and opened the door a crack. A small bewhiskered pink nose peeked from the bottom of the door. “Meow?” I closed the door.

Crap! What do I do now?

I grabbed my keys and managed to get into the hallway without the fuzzball streaking into my apartment. I picked up the wriggling feline, a fluffy brown and black cat with a white muzzle and white paws, and it began to purr. Well-fed but no collar, I noticed.

Is this cool or crazy? The apartment building doesn’t allow pets. None of my other neighbors own a cat (I know, because I knocked on a bunch of doors and asked). Since I don’t have the equipment to take care of a cat (nor do I want to ignore the terms of my lease), I made the hard decision of leaving the cat outside, hoping that it will eventually head back to its owner–if it indeed has one. And if it’s still there tomorrow, I suppose I’ll have to call animal control*.

I guess what annoys me about the whole situation is not the cat itself, but the humans who are supposed to be taking care of the animal. Sure, it might be a stray, but if it isn’t, the least the owners could have done was to put identifying information on a collar so the pet could be returned.

*I did not call animal control now because they won’t come until tomorrow anyway.

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