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A couple of hours ago, I was putting a bag of garbage out on our back porch/fire escape when I heard a voice say, "Excuse me -- is that cat yours?"
I turned to see someone standing near the door that leads into the main hallway from the fire escape, and saw a little grey cat run toward me. Within a couple of seconds it was winding around my feet, as the woman who had called out to me explained that she had seen the cat on her windowsill (which is also on our fire escape) and come out to see what was going on.
I couldn't leave the cat out in the cold winter night, so I picked it up and took it in. I checked its ears -- no tattoo. There was a patch of dark yellow on its throat, as if from iodine, but the spot was dry and there was no visible wound. It was very friendly and clearly at ease with people, resting patiently in my arms as I took it down our side of the apartment building knocking on doors. No soap. At last I ended up at the caretaker's suite, and they agreed to keep the cat in their bathroom while I went to knock on the door of apartment #11, which was on the other side of the building, but the caretaker vaguely remembered that they had a cat similar to the one I had found (or who had found me, as the case might be).
Fortunately it turned out to be their cat. His name is Slippers (for the little white socks on his feet), and he's going to be neutered on the 16th, at which point he'll also get an ear tattoo. The yellow stain was from a medication to treat a wound he'd had on his neck when they found him, back when they lived over on Maryland. He was very lucky -- apartment #11 is on the OTHER back fire escape. He could easily have wandered down to ground level and gone straight out into the alley, and from there to who-knows-where in the frosty Manitoba night. Instead he turned left and went up the stairs, ending up at the top, where I stepped out just in time to encounter him.
Whew. George didn't want to keep the cat in our suite, but if we'd been unable to find the owner the caretaker would have put him in apartment #12, which is currently being renovated. Getting him to the Humane Society would have been a bigger issue, since the caretaker's truck is not working right now, but perhaps I could have cadged a ride from a friend.
Fortunately it didn't come to that. Thanks be to Bast, Who seems to guide little lost ones to my doorstep with a fair amount of regularity.
I turned to see someone standing near the door that leads into the main hallway from the fire escape, and saw a little grey cat run toward me. Within a couple of seconds it was winding around my feet, as the woman who had called out to me explained that she had seen the cat on her windowsill (which is also on our fire escape) and come out to see what was going on.
I couldn't leave the cat out in the cold winter night, so I picked it up and took it in. I checked its ears -- no tattoo. There was a patch of dark yellow on its throat, as if from iodine, but the spot was dry and there was no visible wound. It was very friendly and clearly at ease with people, resting patiently in my arms as I took it down our side of the apartment building knocking on doors. No soap. At last I ended up at the caretaker's suite, and they agreed to keep the cat in their bathroom while I went to knock on the door of apartment #11, which was on the other side of the building, but the caretaker vaguely remembered that they had a cat similar to the one I had found (or who had found me, as the case might be).
Fortunately it turned out to be their cat. His name is Slippers (for the little white socks on his feet), and he's going to be neutered on the 16th, at which point he'll also get an ear tattoo. The yellow stain was from a medication to treat a wound he'd had on his neck when they found him, back when they lived over on Maryland. He was very lucky -- apartment #11 is on the OTHER back fire escape. He could easily have wandered down to ground level and gone straight out into the alley, and from there to who-knows-where in the frosty Manitoba night. Instead he turned left and went up the stairs, ending up at the top, where I stepped out just in time to encounter him.
Whew. George didn't want to keep the cat in our suite, but if we'd been unable to find the owner the caretaker would have put him in apartment #12, which is currently being renovated. Getting him to the Humane Society would have been a bigger issue, since the caretaker's truck is not working right now, but perhaps I could have cadged a ride from a friend.
Fortunately it didn't come to that. Thanks be to Bast, Who seems to guide little lost ones to my doorstep with a fair amount of regularity.
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