It was on Election Day 16 years ago that l heard the mew of a little kitten in the bushes near my house. I lived next to a school and cringed at the cruel practice of people dumping off their unwanted pets. I spotted him, probably about a month old, cute and very scared.
When l tried to grab him, he ran under the neighbor’s car, jumping up into the engine to hide. He wouldn't come out, so l knocked on the door to tell him, by no means, don’t go anywhere. The only thing we had in the house to entice him to come out was tuna salad, and l put a bowl of it down below. After a few minutes, the little gray fur ball came down to eat. I let him get his fill and tried again. This time, he bolted across the parking lot, somehow scooted under the fence and hid in the bushes by the school.
Instead of chasing him around all night, l changed tactics. I had a two-man fishing net and figured l could snag him with it. Only problem was l didn’t have a second man. Being it was Election Day, and voting was taking place at the school, there were people around, and l approached a senior citizen coming from the polls. I explained the situation and he agreed to be my wingman. The net was about 10 feet long with two poles on either end. If we played our cards right, we could surround the little fellow and bring him in.
Reminding my accomplice to keep the bottom of the net low to the ground, the same technique needed to catch fish, we approached. On my signal, we closed off his escape at either end and moved in. The kitten realized the jig was up and bolted, only to be snared in the net and delivered safely in my arms.
I left him in the shoe room momentarily while l went looking for something he could nest in. I came back and he was gone, impossible since both doors were closed. I looked in every shoe, all around the house, even went into the basement like he could get down there somehow. I was quite sure he didn’t run back out the door—l was very careful about that—but nevertheless, l searched outside for a while to no avail. All of a sudden, l heard him mewing again, calling for his mommy. He was somewhere in the house!
I went back inside and looked in the one place he could impossibly be: my coat hanging on a hook. I felt one of the arms, and there was a little lump. The clever critter had somehow jumped up into the coat and hid in the sleeve.
Now he was warm and safe, and it didn’t take long before he wasn’t afraid anymore and was chasing a ball across the floor. We gave him a nice bath and brought him to the vet for a checkup and shots. We got him neutered, and he grew up into a big, happy Maine Coon cat. We named him Tuna after the salad used to help catch him. After a few years, we adopted a brother and sister. He readily accepted them, and even though he was bigger, he always turned the other whisker when they got catty with him.
They were indoor cats and liked to look out the window; sometimes, at the outdoor cats we also took care of. One day, the door was left open a crack, and Tuna made his move. Instead of running away, he went after the black cat that came around and roughed him up.
Tuna gave us a lot of love over the years, always up for a head scratch or a comical roll in the catnip. His urinary tract got all jammed up once, and he needed an operation. I could have gone without that bill or the time he decided to pee all over the washing machine. After many years, he probably generated a Mt. Olympus-sized pile of cat litter and was behind more hurls and hairballs than l would rather not have cleaned up. But it was all worth it. Tuna was a faithful cat and was always there with a warm purr when you needed it.
I found him stretched out comfortably on his little bed, resting peacefully. He didn’t suffer and was in good company right to the end. RIP Tuna the Cat: 2008-2024.