Lost and Found
Is where I am but not who I am. I mean me: the cat. A chip in me says I am from Calgary. I have never been there but learning on the go go I am grateful the chip was there.
If a people turns you in and you have a chip then you are something better to a people than a cat. You are property.
I am just getting my story caught up to my reality as frankly it has all been a bit confusing. I don’t think the old lady likes me. My owner.
1./ Why did she buy me 2./ How did I come to be in Ottawa and 3./ Why did she throw me out the car window? There is a back story I will never know that just happens to be god’s only truth. I know some parts – the part where I am thrown out the car window.
Life in Calgary was all good but I don’t remember. Samantha and John got me last Summer and “It was all good.” What I didn’t know (and still don’t) is (was) that they had bought me for their retired parents in Ottawa. Samantha in particular did a good job of training me way beyond “paper trained” but maybe loving me too much Sam let me keep my balls and be a Tom. There were toys and stuff for me to play with. I guess I do remember some of the good parts of Calgary.
Sam’s idea was that a cat would be good for her mum. Keep Mum Company. Everyone knows that (in general) but they should have got the old crone a gold fish. I lasted seven months and out the window. I’m going to be okay but I know now that not every one is like Samantha. The first home I tried to enter dumped me off at the Lost and Found within hours. That was a few days ago. This writer (sic: writing this) knows the woman who turned me in. Once the pound found the chip I was no longer a cat. I was property. Adding to the story – Ottawa has hired two people full time to run around Ottawa to all the pet stores and make sure that all the cats have dry paper to piss on. The way it works in Ottawa is that no one knows what to do in particular but no need as they have people whose full time job enforces the correct rules of behavior – except that everything is allowed – bed wetting, homosexuality, autism and attention disorder. You can hear it for yourself on the radio on the Internet: CBC Radio 1. TV isn’t nearly as important for crowd control here as in the usa and it hardly matters in a town like Ottawa as every year the people get older – I can’t decide if that is good or bad and I don’t care as in my brief time in lock up – they call it shelter and protective custody – but I learnt from a chipless Tom there are dairy farms and that a cat is welcome there if he or she can hunt rats. I can do that. I never have but I can learn.
That Lady (the writer) wrote something to the effect that she dumped me off at the Lost and Found because she didn’t want me to break her heart. Go figure.
Next time they’ll never find my real owners - John and Samantha . I wish they’d kept me but they didn’t so here I am in fat city on the Rideau and there is a gold fish bowl. So much to do so little time. That fish is mine and on my “to do” list before it’s off to the country.
I’ll close on a story from earlier days - when there was room at the Ark – the Northern Ark - and everyone wanted a good cat to do rats.
The story follows …
One of the drive wheels had buried itself deep into the ice and acted like an anchor. The other wheels were embedded (not so deep) in the ice such that the Northern Ark was held in place as if in a vise. "Guess we’ll have to give it up," exclaimed Capt. Noah after an hour’s hard work, during which time the Ark had not moved an inch. "We’d better make up our minds to winter here until the iceberg floats into a warmer climate and either melts or breaks apart." Where is global warming when you need it!
"That’s cheerful," said Mrs. Jonah. "I’ve nothing but summer flannels."
"What about some of the poor animals who are used to the Torrid Zone?" replied Capt. Noah, shouldering the crowbar and climbing up the rope ladder to the deck. Mrs. Jonah did not reply, but turned up her coat collar and stamped upon his feet to warm them.
"The hairless Mexican dog will surely die if we don’t do something for him," said Ham the talking Pig, Red Pork. "I think I’ll ask mother if she won’t let him stay in the kitchen."
Mrs. Noah did not seem very pleased over the suggestion. "Gracious me!" she said. "Shambo already has two parrots, a marmoset and a little green snake in the kitchen. I don’t suppose one more animal would make much difference, if it will only keep from under my feet. I nearly stepped on one of the snakes this morning, and the kitchen is none too large, anyway.”
