No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

I'm a bleeding heart for stray animals. Those of you who follow this blog know that after Mr. Fritz left we had a cat show up on the porch, literally the following week, ready to take his place at the dinner table. Black Fritz as he became known, was definitely a feral cat. I fed him all winter and Jeff and I had decided that if we were going to keep feeding him then it would be the responsible thing to have "it" spayed or neutered.

The whole process took on an immediate status when BF started to mark his territory throughout the entire neighborhood--leaving in "its" wake some very angry neighbors with ruined porch furniture (if you know what I mean).

So I borrowed a trap. Set the bait. He outsmarted me on the first attempt, but I caught him on the second. So now I have a cat in a trap on my front porch...

Our valley doesn't have a feral cat spay/neuter program. We just barely got a Humane Shelter for crying out loud! (don't get me started)--so I started to call veterinarians to schedule an immediate surgery. I finally located a vet who agreed to see the cat that very day, but depending upon the sex of the animal it would have to be taken to a different location. They also mentioned that I would need to have some way to transport and hold the animal for a few days so that it could be healed post-op.

So I borrowed a dog crate--a big dog crate from the neighbors to keep BF happy during its post-op recovery.

In the background you have to realize that I am making these phone calls while getting the kids dressed, fed and Jeff is trying to leave for work. I asked him to please help me move the cat from the cage to the crate and discover the sex so that I know where to drop it off. We are both frazzled and in a hurry.

I handed Jeff some leather gloves...I should have handed him some stainless steel armor. While making the "quick and easy" move from the cage to the crate, BF went ballistic. That's putting it mildly. He was eating Jeff alive and I just stood there because I was too afraid to move! Jeff finally threw the cat into the crate and I slammed the door shut. But not before the front porch looked like this....

He was bleeding everywhere. And he was mad. Mad at me. Mad at the cat. Mad that I said that it wouldn't be a big deal. Uugh. I was just sick. It was awful. And I STILL didn't know where to take BF for his surgery!

Jeff went to the bathroom to soak his arms. I proceeded to call the vet back so that I could tell them that I didn't know what to do with the cat--in the process I mentioned that it was too crazy and had bitten my husband. The receptionist told me that since Jeff had been bitten that she would no longer take the cat and that I needed to contact the city to see what their "cat-bite policy" was...ARE YOU KIDDING ME??!! I was freaking out. So I called the city and was told that I needed to talk to the mayor. The mayor?? For real?? Yes, he was in a meeting and I had to wait for him to call me back.

If you ever get bitten by a feral cat and the mayor calls you back you can pretty much guarantee that it is not going to end well for your cat. The mayor told me that because the cat had bitten someone that it would have to be quarantined for 14 days for a rabies evaluation, OR he could call animal control to come and get the animal for euthanization. I cried. I cried on the phone with the mayor.

The animal control officer was very nice. Very nice, most likely because I was still crying from my conversation with the mayor. And very nice because he had been instructed to tell me that the city had received some complaints regarding "the harboring of stray animals" at my residence. Then I was crying because I was sad and mad. It was one cat! At any rate, if I "harbor" any more strays I will be fined by the city.

I might have to run for mayor.

Oh, and he told me that the state would be contacting my husband to ensure that he had been evaluated for rabies. It's against the law to NOT see a doctor following a cat bite. More crying because Jeff was seriously wounded and would need to have antibiotics that would "cause severe and painful diarrhea for several days." So much crying.

I hope that BF is enjoying heaven. I do feel terrible that it ended so badly. I just wanted to help it live a more peaceful, less hormone induced life. Jeff's wounds were very painful. He couldn't even move his arms for three days--and he had some severe infection (i.e., puss draining from the sores) that caused him to be very ill (i.e., cold sweats, high fevers, nausea).

Closing Note: An official letter came from the State Diagnostics Lab. Neither BF or Jeff has rabies. Jeff no longer mad about the cat bites. He was very understanding. I cried about that too.