Warpath
Well, I'm back with an update bearing more developments in the saga of the Crazy Cat Lady. And I do mean crazy.
On Saturday I caught her at the house, feeding the cats. At least eight swarmed on the porch while more lurked in the bushes. As I paused, wishing I'd thought to bring my camera, she came out the door: a grey-haired fiftysomething woman who looked much like I'd expected.
"Are you Naamah?" she asked, in a perfectly reasonable tone of voice.
"Yes, ma'am," I replied. "I found a kitten--"
"YOU GET THE HELL OFFA MY PROPERTY! I'VE ALREADY CALLED THE COPS ABOUT YOU!"
Since I was standing on the sidewalk, I did not budge. "Ma'am, I tried to save your cat."
"YOU STOLE MY KITTEN!"
Taken aback, I paused. "Ma'am, he was dying."
"I'M CALLING THE COPS ON YOU! I'M CALLING THEM RIGHT NOW! YOU GET THE HELL OFFA MY PROPERTY! I'M CALLING THE COPS AND REPORTING YOU FOR STEALING MY KITTEN."
"You do that, ma'am. I'll wait here."
There was more hollering, much of it inarticulate. She didn't come and push me, like I'd hoped. She retreated into the house and slammed the door. The cats were long gone by then.
I called the cops right then and there, told them what was going on and that I by god wanted it taken care of, and was told to call Animal Control. Given that it was Saturday, I was unable to reach anyone, so I wound up calling the cops again anyway, and I had them send someone out. I told the officers the whole story, dead kitten soup to crazy cat lady nuts, and they told me that my best bet was to catch her feeding them and take pictures so that there would be proof that she is harboring them. Stupid me, should have been doing that already.
So for three days I've been taking photos of the food on her porch, and pictures of as many cats as I can. Given that most of them split when they see me, it's not easy.
I spent all weekend in a funk, feeling like I could do nothing for the cats, and apocalyptically pissed in general over the cavernous stupidity and hubris necessary to accuse someone of stealing an animal that is dying of neglect.
But today Animal Control is back and I went on the warpath. I called and I ranted about the number of cats. I raved about the state of her yard, covered with cat feces and vomit. I waved around every disease I know of that is transmissible from cats to humans -- and I know of a good many. I described the smell, and the clouds of flies. And I demanded that something be done.
Jake at Animal Control said he would "send someone out." Same answer I'd gotten before.
Still in a funk, I dropped by a few hours later to see what I could see. Lo and behold, another pink note, this one taped to her door. This warning was of the "if you don't call and work something out with us, we will fine your ass" variety.
And, in a stroke of unanticipated luck, I met the extremely nice and incredibly tidy woman, Linda, who lives two doors down from the crazy cat lady and who is also mad as hell about the whole thing.
From what she says, the crazy cat lady doesn't live there, she just owns the three houses on the corner. One is uninhabited, one is full of cats, and the third harbors a family of rednecks who deal drugs out of their garage. (In light of this tidbit of information I rather doubt she really meant to call the cops.) She claims to have over fifty cats. Her actual house is somewhere else in the development. I'm going to try to find it, since I know what her car looks like, and have it investigated, too, so she can't just crate up the animals and move them to a different house. How much of this is true is unsubstantiated, but I can say that circumstantial evidence supports all of it.
I gave Linda the number of Animal Control, sat and listened while she called them and left a message. I gave her my number. I have her card. She's going to talk to the other neighbors. And we are going to get this cleaned up.
It's a public health hazard, for god's sake. The neighbors' yards are infested with fleas, covered in cat droppings, and crawling with cats. On a still day, I can smell the house from a block away. When the wind is right, I can smell it for two. And now that I've got the ball rolling, I think that Linda will help me keep it going. She seems like a classy dame, has a piano and huge white cat named Snowball, and she sells designer perfume.
So there's a glimmer of hope. Not for the animals, sadly. They are feral as hell, and if there truly are more than a dozen I doubt they can all be saved or rehabilitated. But there is hope for stopping this before it gets worse. Yes. I will do everything I can to help the animals that can be helped, but I'm aware that the best we can do may just be to shut her down. At this point, that's a victory. I feel sick at the inevitable loss of life, but the thought of the suffering spreading like a canker, a sore, a nest of boils, is too much for me to tolerate. It's so much worse to let it go on.
The three houses in question are being bought by the university across the street, by the way, and are slated for destruction probably sometime next year. If I don't do something now, it will just get done later, perhaps with worse consequences. It's for the best -- I want that house razed. I'm just sorry that the crazy bitch isn't going to be in it when it happens.
I will, however, be happy to sit across the street and watch.
On Saturday I caught her at the house, feeding the cats. At least eight swarmed on the porch while more lurked in the bushes. As I paused, wishing I'd thought to bring my camera, she came out the door: a grey-haired fiftysomething woman who looked much like I'd expected.
"Are you Naamah?" she asked, in a perfectly reasonable tone of voice.
"Yes, ma'am," I replied. "I found a kitten--"
"YOU GET THE HELL OFFA MY PROPERTY! I'VE ALREADY CALLED THE COPS ABOUT YOU!"
Since I was standing on the sidewalk, I did not budge. "Ma'am, I tried to save your cat."
"YOU STOLE MY KITTEN!"
Taken aback, I paused. "Ma'am, he was dying."
"I'M CALLING THE COPS ON YOU! I'M CALLING THEM RIGHT NOW! YOU GET THE HELL OFFA MY PROPERTY! I'M CALLING THE COPS AND REPORTING YOU FOR STEALING MY KITTEN."
"You do that, ma'am. I'll wait here."
There was more hollering, much of it inarticulate. She didn't come and push me, like I'd hoped. She retreated into the house and slammed the door. The cats were long gone by then.
I called the cops right then and there, told them what was going on and that I by god wanted it taken care of, and was told to call Animal Control. Given that it was Saturday, I was unable to reach anyone, so I wound up calling the cops again anyway, and I had them send someone out. I told the officers the whole story, dead kitten soup to crazy cat lady nuts, and they told me that my best bet was to catch her feeding them and take pictures so that there would be proof that she is harboring them. Stupid me, should have been doing that already.
So for three days I've been taking photos of the food on her porch, and pictures of as many cats as I can. Given that most of them split when they see me, it's not easy.
I spent all weekend in a funk, feeling like I could do nothing for the cats, and apocalyptically pissed in general over the cavernous stupidity and hubris necessary to accuse someone of stealing an animal that is dying of neglect.
But today Animal Control is back and I went on the warpath. I called and I ranted about the number of cats. I raved about the state of her yard, covered with cat feces and vomit. I waved around every disease I know of that is transmissible from cats to humans -- and I know of a good many. I described the smell, and the clouds of flies. And I demanded that something be done.
Jake at Animal Control said he would "send someone out." Same answer I'd gotten before.
Still in a funk, I dropped by a few hours later to see what I could see. Lo and behold, another pink note, this one taped to her door. This warning was of the "if you don't call and work something out with us, we will fine your ass" variety.
And, in a stroke of unanticipated luck, I met the extremely nice and incredibly tidy woman, Linda, who lives two doors down from the crazy cat lady and who is also mad as hell about the whole thing.
From what she says, the crazy cat lady doesn't live there, she just owns the three houses on the corner. One is uninhabited, one is full of cats, and the third harbors a family of rednecks who deal drugs out of their garage. (In light of this tidbit of information I rather doubt she really meant to call the cops.) She claims to have over fifty cats. Her actual house is somewhere else in the development. I'm going to try to find it, since I know what her car looks like, and have it investigated, too, so she can't just crate up the animals and move them to a different house. How much of this is true is unsubstantiated, but I can say that circumstantial evidence supports all of it.
I gave Linda the number of Animal Control, sat and listened while she called them and left a message. I gave her my number. I have her card. She's going to talk to the other neighbors. And we are going to get this cleaned up.
It's a public health hazard, for god's sake. The neighbors' yards are infested with fleas, covered in cat droppings, and crawling with cats. On a still day, I can smell the house from a block away. When the wind is right, I can smell it for two. And now that I've got the ball rolling, I think that Linda will help me keep it going. She seems like a classy dame, has a piano and huge white cat named Snowball, and she sells designer perfume.
So there's a glimmer of hope. Not for the animals, sadly. They are feral as hell, and if there truly are more than a dozen I doubt they can all be saved or rehabilitated. But there is hope for stopping this before it gets worse. Yes. I will do everything I can to help the animals that can be helped, but I'm aware that the best we can do may just be to shut her down. At this point, that's a victory. I feel sick at the inevitable loss of life, but the thought of the suffering spreading like a canker, a sore, a nest of boils, is too much for me to tolerate. It's so much worse to let it go on.
The three houses in question are being bought by the university across the street, by the way, and are slated for destruction probably sometime next year. If I don't do something now, it will just get done later, perhaps with worse consequences. It's for the best -- I want that house razed. I'm just sorry that the crazy bitch isn't going to be in it when it happens.
I will, however, be happy to sit across the street and watch.