I was hoping to have resolution on the Cat Caper by now, but no such luck. Here’s the story:
BACKGROUND
Sunday evening, at about 6 o’clock I get a ring at my doorbell. I wasn’t expecting visitors. At the door was a short, stocky, older man of about 60. His hands trembled with Parkinson’s. His name was Mr. Smith. He spoke slowly and clearly, pausing a half-beat between nearly every word.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “I live across the fence in the neighborhood behind you, and I’m looking for my white cat that’s been missing.”
I knew the cat. It often wondered around our neighborhood, but I hadn’t seen it, and told him so.
“Well, actually sir,” he said, and began pointing ahead of him off to his left, “I see the cat through the window right there.”
He pointed towards the window, but it wasn’t my window. I live in a row of connected townhomes and he was mistaken. My bedroom window was to his right. I told him this as I stepped outside with him to see the cat sitting in the window sill just as he’d said. He noted that the cat stitches in its side with the hair around the stitches shaved in a neat circle. We deduced that the lady had taken the cat to a vet. The man thanked me and I went back inside.
THE RETURN
Five minutes later the doorbell rings again.
“Your neighbor is refusing to give me my cat,” Mr. Smith said. “Will you call the police for me?”
This is an interesting development, I thought. The neighbor, Ms. Craft was certainly the type.
She was probably in her forties, but one could easily mistake her for being in her sixties. She wore think eyeglasses and always kept her head pointed towards the ground. In my 9 months of living there I’d hardly spoken two words to her. In fact, I remembered right there the only time I had spoken to is when she asked me what my friendly Boston terrier Sophie’s name was, and whether it was okay for her to pet Sophie though the fence. Many times I’d waved or spoken with the only response from Ms. Craft being a perfect ignorance – if acting as if someone didn't exist were a sport she would be a world champion contender.
I asked Mr. Smith what happened. He said he’d rang her doorbell and gone through the same scenario he’d done with me. He started by telling her he was looking for the cat, but not that he’d seen it in her window.
“She denied having the cat,” Mr. Smith said. “That’s when I confronted her about seeing it in the window and asked her to give me my cat back. Will you call the cops.”
I call the cops, 911 to be exact because I couldn’t find their number. An hour later two patrol units pull up, knock on the door and wait… nothing. Ms. Craft doesn’t drive. Her live-in spouse is not at home with the only car, and there’s no way she could have left without someone seeing her. Nevertheless, the lights are off and no one comes to the door. The cops, not wanting the paperwork a report would require, tell Mr. Smith to call them if she comes outside and they will come back over.
The next morning Mr. Smith, and the cops, are back. Mr. Smith got the door shut on him again, this time by the man who lives with Ms. Craft. Seems he didn’t want to discuss it either. The cop advises Mr. Smith to go down to small claims court against her. Someone else suggests he should swear out a warrant against her for her arrest. He asks the cop if he can do that and the cop says yes. Five days later and I’m awaiting updates from the neighbors.
Odd story, eh?
