It may get hairy…

I’ve recently returned from the UK and I can easily say that one of the hardest things I’ve had to do  is leave my cats behind.

I left nigh on 2 years ago, my old (not-so-wise) 16 year old and a young (absolutely bonkers) 2 year old with a lovely woman and her wayward fiancé , who agreed to foster them for this time, whilst I paid them. I managed, almost successfully to turn off my emotional switch and only occasionally find myself huddled in a corner, bawling guilt-stricken tears and banging my head against a sadly not padded wall. A moment like this struck, as a week before I left, the woman announced that her fiancé was indeed wayward and had run off… with my cats.

Eventually I tracked down the poofy haired, joint toking thief and we agreed to stick to the initial plan. Except…he didn’t. He didn’t answer my calls, he sent one email (a week after I landed) with a lovely picture of my beauties, but that was it. I was stuck in Ireland at one time, stalking him online and calling all but his mother (only for lack of finding her details) to find out what was happening with my surrogate-children. The man was beyond useless. I eventually heard from him…on Facebook…by way of a very sensitive message telling me my 16 year old had died: “Sorry, girl, she’s dead.” That’s it. It wasn’t much of a surprise, considering she’d made it to 16, but one expects a modicum of decency. I let this slide by, as it turns out she’d died on his bed, whilst he was sleeping – implying he was taking care of them in some way.

Skip to my return [insert months upon months of incessant missed calls and no emails – a total lack of correspondence] – I call up my little friend, who answers…when I call from a number that wasn’t mine. I explain that soon I’ll have a place where I can accommodate a cat, but not for a month and is he OK with me taking her back, as I realise 2 years is a long time and he may be attached. He agreed to everything.

Now here is where I must take blame. I didn’t call. In fact, I avoided him. I couldn’t find a place that would allow cats and my work sucked rather large donkey balls, so I didn’t want to commit to somewhere, when I wasn’t sure where I’d be working, so I stayed on at the wonderful home I had (but which didn’t allow cats). I tried to call him a few times, to explain, but I got no answer. I didn’t push it, as I found myself nudging towards the seriously un-padded walls with each call. My guilt was eating me up, but my avoidance was doing a good job at saving my skin. Skip again to me moving to the coast, 3 months after my return (yes! I know, my bad, but I had called him, incessantly).

Fluffy, aka Shadow.

Many, many calls from my number failed, but I finally got him, by calling from my beloved mother’s phone. He agreed that I could pick up Shadow, who was incidentally not with him, but his Grandmother, in Harrismith (roughly 3 hours away). I was to pick her up at the end of August. Two weeks before this, I start calling. No answer. I try my Mother’s phone, no answer and eventually stretch to my Dad’s phone – Answer!! Although, coincidentally, the poor sod couldn’t hear me once he got past my name… I have now sent him Facebook messages, sms’s and repeated texts. My patience has worn thin.

This is why I ask you today to forward this to as many of your friends as you can (no, not to punt my blog, it’s pretty pathetic and my ‘make money’ button will probably only result in slightly disgusting overtures), in order to catch this slimy cretin and GET MY CAT BACK!

For legal reasons I can’t name him (and if I can’t describe him either, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know), so, this is how it goes:

  • He was Benoni based – out in the bundus, with a lovely fiancé called Danè, until he abandoned her and run off with some floozy – like he ran off with my cat.
  • He’s now based in Durban (North, I believe)
  • He’s young(ish), around 24/25 now, I’d say.
  • He’s from a small town, I think Klerksdorp, but not sure.
  • Here’s the kicker – his surname is a literal Afrikaans translation of “From Lesbian” – please stretch the last word to all forms of creativity, I’m not above defamation, if it helps me find my cat (although, many of my friends are lesbian, so defamation is definitely NOT intended).
  • His first name may rhyme with ‘Dark’ and be of a French origin…it may also be the first name of a Springbok rugby player whose surname is Fourie, although spelt differently.
  • He had very poofy, curly hair, with striking blue eyes, until he recently shaved it all off, mercenary style and his eyes now resemble something Attila the Hun would fear.
  • He sounds incredibly, utterly stupid, but is obviously smart enough not to answer a phone.
  • Oooh, and I believe he’s working in some form of work shop.

Any help in spreading the word would be greatly appreciated. It probably won’t work, but I’m pissed. I’ve had enough and I will try anything at this point.

Comments on: "Dear From a Lesbian, I want my cat back." (9)

  1. In response to possible comments:

    1) I understand that I’m initially to blame for this, so guilt-trips aren’t necessary – I already suffer from more guilt that you could imagine.
    2) I realise that moving a cat is traumatic and I shouldn’t be trying to get her back, but I want her back. She’s mine. She was happy with me. He bunged her off on his granny. Therefore, I win.
    3) If he were to tell me where she is, that she is safe and happy and why he was avoiding me (with some element of proof – i.e. seeing her), then I would drop this, but he hasn’t. Therefore, I am pissed and I want my cat back.
    4) Please refrain from being nasty sods. Although this post may have a humorous angle, it’s not meant to be funny. I miss my cat and I really want her back.


  2. Ps. Apologies for any grammatical errors, swearing or anything out of the norm. I didn’t really proofread this. I’m too mad, so it shall have to stay as is.


  3. Hey Sez,

    Have you tried threatening with laying a charge of theft…you can do that.
    Also, Shadow wants you back too.

    Does his granny have the same surname?

    Big hugs.


  4. Hey 😉

    I would love to, but I have no idea where to start. I have his name and surname (and his Facebook page, where I saw his psycho hair style), but I don’t know his address, or his ID number. I’m not even sure if his Gran has his surname, or what her first name is.

    I know I left myself in an incredibly stupid situation, but sometimes when you don’t want to think about things, you actually succeed…and thus miss a load of things you need to do.


    Thanks hon!


    PS. Thank you for saying she wants me back too. After two months of being there, she saw me and remembered me [that’s a major ‘up yours’ to the people who say cats don’t remember after a month :)].


  5. I am sorry about your cat dear, but sounded like you were coming out the closet there. It could be his ouma has gotten attatched to the cat and he is avoiding you because of that?


    • Hey 😉 You have a point. She could have, but then I remember my two months in Ireland, when I phoned every day and got no response. I wish I knew why. I don’t mind if someone’s attached to her – it means she’s being taken care of (well, infers that she is, anyway), but I’d just like to know.


  6. […] note: for those that don’t know the story, 1st post and 2nd post. Share this:TwitterFacebookEmailStumbleUponLike this:LikeBe the first to like this […]


  7. […] been keeping track of shelters and adverts for awhile now. Part on the look out for Shadow and partly because those little faces warm my heart. There has been no hiding the fact that, […]


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