stolen. The cat had been missing for 3 months, but she just saw it in a yard next to park. (The park is a half mile away.) When Ms. Russo told the family that the cat was hers they told her to leave and threatened to call the police. Then it got weird. My conversation with Ms. Russo went something like this:
Me: Is Snowball male or female?
Her: I don't know.
Me: How long have you had Snowball?
Her: About two years.
Me: Your vet will know Snowball's sex. Why don't you call the vet's office and ask them to look it up?
Her: I've never taken Snowball to the vet.
Me: Why not? You know cats need rabies vaccinations too, right?
Her: Oh, Snowball had that when we adopted him. Or her.
Me: Great. That information should be on your adoption paperwork. Go ahead look that up. I'll wait.
Her: I don't know where that paperwork is. [Followed by some lame excuse because she doesn't know that I know she's a hoarder.]
Me: How old is Snowball?
Her: About 2 years. We got Snowball as a tiny kitten.
Me: Where did you adopt Snowball?
Her: From the Humane Society.
Me: Great. They sterilize all animals before adoption. When you got Snowball was the belly shaved or was the back end shaved?
Her: I don't remember.
Me: [exasperated]: Let's move on. Was Snowball wearing a collar?
Her: No, but there's a microchip.
Me: Great. What's the microchip number? [BTW, that info would also be in the adoption paperwork or vet records.]
Her: I don't know. You'll have to call the chip company and find out.
Me: No, you need to call the microchip company. It's your cat!
|Not Snowball either|
|Definitely not Snowball|
My phone rang at 6:30 one morning. The Lieutenant asked me to come in right away. There was an "incident" and they wanted my opinion before the news showed up -- and Channel 4 was on the way. Ms. Jackson, a local CCL (Crazy Cat Lady), found a dead kitten on her porch. It had been partially skinned and there was blood everywhere. She said that "obviously this was a satanic ritual," so she called the local news -- before calling the police, of course. I arrived on scene and met with the detective who was diligently taking photographs and measurements. Even crazy people get the best of service in our town! Sure enough, there was a kitten on the porch just as described. The Lieutenant asked my professional opinion. I flipped the corpse over and in my best Colombo impersonation said "foxes, not freaks." Why?
- Ms. Jackson's property butted up against the nature preserve and I'd had several complaints about foxes recently.
- The jagged edges of the skin were torn, not cut by a knife.
- The soft, internal organs were missing. Predators often eat these first.
- The body was not laid out on display. Instead, it was crumpled up in a heap in the darkest corner of the property.
|Made me think of poor old Poopmeister|
|And the award goes to Chloe's dumbass owner . . .|
Unfortunately, people turn in their own pets and claimed they're strays all the time. No, the kicker was when my partner contacted the woman and told her to come get her dog or be charged with abandonment the woman had the audacity to say, "That's my dog? Oh my God! I thought 'Wow it looks like Chloe,' but Chloe ran away months ago. I wondered why the dog got into my car so easily. I can't believe it!" We didn't believe it either. Talk about a Poopmeister!
This job may not be glamorous or lucrative, but it is entertaining. Seriously, I can't make this stuff up. Until next time, -- K