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).
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.