COLUMN: New Cat

I don't often write column sequels. But I also don't often have days like the one I experienced last week.

If you're a regular visitor to this nook of the newspaper (and thanks if you are,) you might remember last week when I told my tale of Shane's Terrible, Horrible, No Good Very Bad Day. It was just like any other normal workday, except I woke up in a foul mood, pretty much hated everyone and everything, and decided it was a jolly time to try one of those Impossible Whoppers at Burger King, which immediately turned the day into sunshine and roses and made me swear off meat for life.

Or not.

Truth be told, the burger was better than expected, other than causing my stomach to make a delightful array of odd noises all afternoon as it figured out how to digest this foreign soy invader. Still, I couldn't quite shake the bad mood. As it turned out, I needed help to do that -- help that would come unexpectedly a few hours later.

I have long been a sucker for anything with four legs, sad eyes, and a well-timed meow. I share my living space with two cats who have graciously allowed me to house them, feed them, and see to their every need. But at any given time, I also have anywhere from 1-8 stepcats, who long ago realized that showing up at my back door with big eyes and timid meows usually results in a bowl of food their way.

Rock Island is rife with feral and stray cats, and I'm pretty sure most of them know my house. I'm an easy mark, or at least I used to be. A few years ago, one sad kitty started dropping by every night for a meal. Then it started bringing a friend. And another friend. But one day when I opened my back door to find no fewer than seven raggedy alley cats impatiently awaiting dinner, I closed up shop on Cafe Shane. Well, for a while.

I've recently had a new visitor to my back door. I first saw her tiny little frame last fall, timidly slinking around the edges of my yard. When I surprised her on my steps one day, I did what any normal grown adult would do: I looked her square in the eye and went, "Meow?" To my surprise, her tail perked up, she marched right over, and meowed back.

Thus began our long friendship. It didn't take long until I gave in and started feeding her. But this cat is no ordinary stray. She'll carry on full conversations with you. She'll ignore the food in favor of skritches and a lap to jump in. Her purr is so loud I can hear it from across the yard. But when the weather got cold, she disappeared for the winter. "Awesome," I thought, "she has a home somewhere." But as soon as spring sprang, she was back.

All summer long, this cat has been living in my yard. No matter the day or time, you can find her lurking nearby. I get home from work, she's on my back steps. I get back from a DJ gig at 4 a.m., she's there. I leave for the office first thing in the morning, she's under foot. Maybe she DOESN'T have a home? When I stepped out a couple weeks ago and found her politely sitting there in the middle of a rainstorm drenched to her little kitty bones, I decided it was time for action.

So last week, I put a collar on her with a day-glo note that said, "READ ME! Is this your cat? She's been visiting me and I want to help if she doesn't have a home. Call me!"

That brings us to my Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day, when I came home from work to find her on my back steps, still wearing the collar I'd put on her days before. No one saw the note. No one called me. It was fixing to rain. There was no better time to act.

So I took her to the vet to get some answers. She's definitely a she. No micro-chip, but she's been spayed -- if she's not somebody's cat, she probably once was. But the vet also said she has several broken teeth, which is the sign of a cat who's led a hard outdoor life. Best of all, the tests came back negative and she didn't have any toxic cat heebie-jeebies.

So, as I type this, I have a new houseguest. The vet wants me to quarantine her for a couple weeks to make sure she doesn't have any lingering respiratory issues, so I've turned my bedroom into a makeshift kitty hotel. I'm still desperately trying to find out if she has a home -- I've put flyers around the neighborhood, ads in the paper, and posts on social media. If you or someone you know in Broadway/Longview Rock Island is missing a kitty, e-mail me.

But if no one claims her, I might just have a new roomie. The key word is "might." She seems cool with the arrangement, but my other houseguests appear less than enthused. She doesn't have any cat cooties, but she was providing transportation services to a wayward family of fleas, so now all three cats had to get flea treatments and stink to high heaven. And I won't gross you out, but there's been some tummy issues. Let's just say my new friend gets a little less cute every time I have to clean her poop off my WALLS. Ugh.

So yeah, what started as a Very Bad Day ended with me getting a new roomie. If she has an owner, hopefully I can find them. If not? Time will tell. But there's no bad mood a purr can't fix.

Or so I thought. Wait, isn't this crazy day OVER yet? Nope. Part 3 next week.