[Previous: "Gym rats"] [Back to blog] [Next: "Ow"]
I decided to venture into the scorching afternoon heat several days ago, knock on a few neighbors' doors and see if I could find Big Boy's owner. I secretly hoped he had been abandoned, because a couple of days earlier, we broke down and fed him and treated his flea problem. We were getting a bit used to having him greet us every afternoon with his pathetic whiny meow and foot kneading. He was in horrible shape: his hair was dirty and mangled, his sides were thin and he seemed lethargic. His sorry condition angered me. I wondered what I would say to the person who actually claimed him.
And wouldn't you know it? The person who answered the door at the very first house I stopped at -- our next-door neighbor to the right -- claimed him. He was a young man, probably in his late 20s, and seemed a bit irked that I disturbed him. I didn't blame him -- I don't like being approached by strangers coming to my front door, either. He wore a wifebeater, had a No. 1 haircut all the way around and knee-length denim shorts. Very Eminem wanna-be. "Um, excuse me," I said. "Um, I live in the house next door to you that way," gesturing over his shoulder. "I was wondering if you knew anything about the gray and white cat that hangs out around here with the missing bottom lip."
"Yeah, that's my cat. Is something wrong?"
"Oh no, I'd, um, just seen him walking around a lot lately, more than usual, and I wondered..."
"Is he bothering you?"
"No, no." I stumbled, trying to hold back from telling him how horrible of a pet owner he is. "I was just checking."
"Oh, OK." He brusquely introduced himself right then, but it went in one ear and out the other, as it always does when I meet someone I don't care much for.
"Thanks."
Somehow, this doesn't seem over. I'm more upset now than I was when I previously thought Big Boy had been abandoned.
Current mood: Discontented