Submission: Two days ago, April 30th 2017, I lost a member of my family. His name was OJ / OG Joe, and he was our baby. He’s was the youngest of our current cats, only 2 years. He would’ve been three in June. He was an indoor-outdoor cat, and he’s only had a collar and chip for around half a year. He was a sweetheart. A lover, always wanting pets. He was playful, but never hurt anyone. When he bit you, it was grazing. The hardest he ever did was just pressure, never enough to puncture. He loved having his head pulled back so you could rub his neck and head. He’d headbutt you and purr forever. He was soft, and the fur between his thighs was thinner than the rest and it was the softest. He loved belly rubs.
He wasn’t always an angel; he could be downright obnoxious if you needed to take him somewhere, or if he accidentally got outside before it was night. We only ever let them out at night, and they’d be in by morning. It was routine. Him and his older “brother” Milo, who was much more adventurous and wild. Sometimes we might not see Milo for a day at a time, but he always comes back. OJ would always be around, however.
We thought he was smart. Thought he was safe; for the most part, that would be correct. He was a very smart cat. He’d always watch and wait for cars to pass before running across, but I’d always be terrified. The cars on my street always go so fast… most well over the speed limit. This street has claimed 2 of my mother’s cats before, Rocky and Tiger. Rocky, the sweetest old black cat you’d ever know, died in my mother’s arms the 3rd week of my 4th grade. I went to school and broke down crying in the lines we’d make before going to class. We never found Tiger; a friend said she saw an orange tabby in the gutter, and that was enough. Chili, a white male who’d had his ears docked to holes because of sun cancer, died at the grand age of 20 in his sleep.
The street we’re on isn’t the only danger, as my cat Tinkerbell’s daughter was either killed, or stolen, a day before we returned home from my 18th birthday in Mexico. She was a beautiful black tabby with piercing, light green eyes- I’d never seen anything like her before, nor do I think I will ever again. She was sweet, and feisty, and so much bigger than her mom it was a hilarious. As we never found her body, and she never was one to cross the street, and given her unique appearance and overall trusting demeanor… I do think someone snatched her up. We had no chips, no collars. It’s how we’d always done things.
Blackie had two twin brothers, both white with gray splotches, and both were given to a family friend who lived out in the country. They were indoor-outdoor cats, and they’d never had any problems before. Then one went missing. Coyotes, most likely. Car. Who knows. The second? I’m not sure, but I haven’t heard anything about him since so it’s not hard to guess he shared the same fate.
What I’m saying in this long-winded, very personal rambling of mine is… please, please keep your cats inside. For their safety, and for your sanity. If you truly love your animals, don’t carelessly allow them to possibly dance with death on a daily basis. You may think they’re smart, or that it’s safe, or that it would never happen to you… but it can. It does. It will. It happened to me. OJ had just come inside after we’d gone to the store, he’d eaten, and he got out through a window I was opening in my room.
I didn’t think anything of it. I never did. Why should I? Nothing had happened so far. Not 10 minutes later, I noticed a group of 3 people outside that window. Then a knock on the door, and a crying woman asking… if the little orange cat was ours. He’d been seen downtown before, he wanders, so people might call the number on his collar to be sure… but this wasn’t that. She was crying. I knew. I think my mom knew too, going by her voice.
They’d placed his body on our lawn. He looked like he was asleep, like he was laying on my bed in the sun like he always does. But he wasn’t. He was gone. Gone quickly, without suffering. He’d been hit in the head. Hit so hard and fast it dented the bell on his collar, scuffed the fabric.
You think it won’t happen to you. But it can. All it takes is one mistake, one car that’s speeding and comes out of nowhere before your baby has time to react- and that’s what they are, babies. Children. Would you let your child run around outside unsupervised? Of course not.
Please take something away from this. I sit here crying, wondering what could’ve been if I hadn’t opened that window. If I hadn’t left my room for a few seconds to grab a smaller screen. If I hadn’t let him go without a fight. I’m always going to blame myself, and nothing anyone says is going to change that. I lost my baby, OG Joe.
Please. Please keep your cats inside. Leash train them if they cry, if they’re “outdoor” cats. Please don’t let them end up like my sweet baby did. Please.
I don’t like posting things that are this sad, but sometimes I think it takes a dose of reality for people to become aware of how much risk their beloved cats are at when allowed to roam outdoors.
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