On October 25, my tabby cat went missing from his foster
home. We had moved a month or two prior to this, into an apartment that doesn’t allow
pets. My mom and sister agreed to take care of the cats until we got settled
into a home. Otis had other ideas. He broke his leash and ran away on a balmy
autumn evening.
We spent six hours searching the neighborhood for him the
next day. It was likely he was still wearing his collar and dragging part of
his leash, so we thought he might have gotten tangled in some bushes. Every
inch of that neighborhood was searched, with no luck.
We made posters to hang, talked to neighbors. I contacted
the police department, visited the shelters frequently, and I posted a picture
on Craigslist.
At first, I got many calls. I checked out a lot of lost gray
and white cats. None of them were Otis. One was close, so close I had to look
twice to make sure.
Fall turned to winter, the calls became more infrequent. Our
visits to the shelter became further apart. We were losing hope of ever finding
him, but prayed he found a family to care for him. Otis is very friendly,
especially with small children. If he couldn’t charm his way into someone’s
life, he didn’t have much of a chance. He is 12 years old, declawed and has
some health problems.
Then, on the coldest day of the year, my sister calls. Check
your Craigslist email, she says. Otis has been found.
Sure enough, there are pictures of a cute little girl
snuggling our Otis! He is skinny, but the same cat.
A few hours later, we arrive to take him home during a big
sendoff for a missing cat. There were two families involved with Otis. One
started feeding him when they noticed him taking shelter in the dog house in
their backyard. The smallest member of the family, and Otis’s best friend, was
a little boy of about three or four. I know well the bond Otis has with young
boys. He was a house fixture while we
raised three little boys and isn’t fearful of their huge gestures and loud
voices, always in the midst of sword fights and knocking trains off their
wooden tracks. I often said Otis prefers the company of kids to adults, the
smaller the better. That little boy and Otis had a bond I could see, although
neither of them had the words to express it.
The family who cared for Otis thought he was a stray. His
collar was long gone, who knows where, and Otis hung around. They tried to
bring him inside, but cat allergies made it impossible.
When the weather got dangerously cold, with wind chills near
50 below, they asked a friend to take the cat, renamed Leo, in her heated garage.
The homeowner with a comfy garage room for the cat recognized this was probably
a pet and did a search on Craigslist. She typed in missing cat and the city,
and up popped a picture and post of our missing Otis.
It seems like a miracle, but really, it isn’t. It is the
kindness of strangers and the capacity to love that saved Otis. It reminds me
to do the same. Look around. Help others. If you see a skinny cat hanging
around, give him some shelter and a meal. When Otis was missing, my dearest
wish was not to find him, but that he was warm and safe and maybe even loved by
someone. Having a little boy love him was the best possible scenario for him.
Frankly, I’m not sure Otis is that pleased to be found. The
first time he meowed, it was because he wanted to go outside. He is refusing
his prescription cat food he used to eat just fine, and raided the garbage
looking for something else.
He may think life on the lam is pretty nice, with little
kids to play with and better food.
This video on You Tube confirms my suspicions.
We are glad to have him back, and count each day forward as a gift. Otis lost four pounds while he was missing. The vet wants him to gain back some weight, but I like a trimmer Otis. He now fits on my lap. His sense of play is also high, which makes me think he really liked hunting for food for those months on the lam.
We are glad to have him back, and count each day forward as a gift. Otis lost four pounds while he was missing. The vet wants him to gain back some weight, but I like a trimmer Otis. He now fits on my lap. His sense of play is also high, which makes me think he really liked hunting for food for those months on the lam.
Otis the survivalist, coming home with astonishingly clean
white paws! He definitely used one of his nine lives in this adventure.
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