Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin...
WFC run a lost and found group on Facebook called WF4C (Waltham Forest 4 Cats) - It's Tad's own group and she's been running it for years. Anyway, all our CP discoveries get posted on there, and folk in the Borough who need the service are free to join and post about their lost ir found puddies.
Last week, almost simultaneously, one of our followers (the lovely Laura - GI Joe's beloved meowmi) posted that a friend of a friend had lost his cat of 7 years and I was called to the local vets to see a cat that had been handed in.
So, off I pop to see our vet nurse - the fabulous young woman who taught me to bottle feed last summer - and took me to see the cat thta had been handed in by a worried member of the public that day. Poor boy was full of fleas, with his mouth - oh his poor mouth - dripping blood. Every tooth in his head looks diseased. He is underweight, severely dehydrated and anaemic but LO! He is microchipped! Sadly the contact details are out of date and the person who had the cat microchipped only owned him for three weeks before returning him to the "Rescue" (and I use this term advisedly) but at least we knew his name.
It's a most unusual name so for the sake of confidentiality I shall refer to this cat as "Oliver Cromwell".
Well. Oliver Cromwell is a beautiful, sleek blue and grey cat wth Jaguar-esque good looks. He has a beauty mark on his face that is most recognisable. We treat his fleas, give him some pain relief for his poor mouth and put him to bed at the vets overnight. I set about finding the person who allowed this amazing cat to get into the sorry state.
On returning home I seek out Laura, and through a series of half conversations (it's so difficult when data protection and confidentiality are involved) we work out that the cat may indeed belong to the chap her friend knows. So without letting on the condition of the cat, I'm able to speak to this chap on the phone.
It's a sorry, sad tale. A genuine modern day tragedy. This man - I shall call him "John" lost his job, lost his home, and then in trying to do the best he could he attempted to re-locate his cat to his son's house but only having a cardboard box the cat inevitably escaped and ran off into unfamiliar territory, he lost his cat too.
This was ten days ago and the poor guy has been couch surfing ever since, trying to hold down a temporary job on the other side of town and having no clue how to go about getting his cat back he had asked his friend for advice, and she had contacted Laura....
I ask about the animal's general health but he's unconcerned because - get this - his daughter is a vet nurse! So why would he be concerned? The cat was eating well up to going missing, like a horse, and his daughter had given him a flea treatment a few months ago because he had been bitten himself so he knew that had been done.... however his daughter hadn't actually seen the cat for a coupe of years. No vaccinations, no worming treatment... not cruelty, just ignorance.
I invite "John" over to meet the cat the next day and tell our vet nurse the tale. We agree to interview John first and note all his details, and the story, before he see the cat in case this turns into a prosecution case.
Good as his word, John arrives at the vet the next evening, and I sit with him in the sun on a bench, taking notes of his story, how he came by the cat, his daughter's details and the vet practice she works for. He's owned this cat since his daughter brought it to him from her vet, but they never got around to changing the chip details. He remembers the cat's name, though, it was "Oliver Cromwell".
So, it's his cat. No question. There's no way he would have guessed that name, and if he was seeking to avoid responsibility for this cat he would not be giving me such accurate details. I relent... and he comes in to view the cat.
There's no doubt it's his cat but the poor baby has lost so much weight and is in such a state they barely recognise one another at first but he picks up the cat who immediately starts to purr and snuggles into his Dad's arms. Bliss. We think.
Sadly, there is now the issue of the cat's dreadful condition to address. John agrees that the cat needs to be treated and our nurse offers to speak to his daughter and explain that extensive dental treatment plan must be in place before we are willing to release the cat. A plan is hatched, and once again Oliver is put to bed at the vets.
The next morning a rightfully mortified vet nurse arrives to collect the cat. She takes him to her practice where he is immediately put under sedation. My phone rings...
The cat is on the operating table. His teeth are appalling. There a suspicious area at the back of his mouth that may be cancerous, and they've tested his blood. He is FIV positive. John cannot give a home to an FIV cat. Do I want to PTS?
My immediate answer, without hesitation, is please, take those teeth out, lets see what the suspected mouth tumour looks like when the teeth are gone, I will find a placement for him if his mouth can be fixed. If not, then the cancer would mean letting him go....
I wait. With my heart in my boots. What am I doing? Playing God with this little life.
I know in my heart he's going to be OK, just know it. The story cannot end like this.....
