His name is Simba

Our story has a happy ending, one that doesn’t include a new addition.  The owners called me this afternoon.  Their house was on my flyer route this morning, and they called me when they got home from school.  The girl was very happy to get her Simba back.  I suggested, nicely, that they get him a collar.  You know, just in case he gets out again.

And hopefully, now that I can stop obsessing over what on earth I’m going to do with a cat, I’ll be able to concentrate again.  I was useless today.

Okay, story’s not over.  I just got a call from a woman who lives on the same street as the cat.  I told her I took him home this afternoon and she was like, “Yeah, well, I’m looking out my window and a cat who looks just like the one on the flyer is standing outside.”  And then I was like, “You have GOT to be kidding me.  No.  Way.”  And she was like, “Way.”  And I was like, “Oh.  My.  God, Becky.”  And then I was like,  okay, I can’t write like that anymore.  The gist is that she’s going to take the cat back to the kids.  I can’t decide if I hope it’s the same cat (’cause GAH, could they really have let the poor thing out AGAIN?) or a different cat.  I don’t know if I have another crusade like this in me.  Not so soon.  John and I passed out almost 300 flyers last night and this morning, and I spent part of the day calling every local vet and the shelter and I emailed the flyer to all of them.  That reminds me, though, that I need to go to Starbucks and Giant and take the flyers down.  Now that I think about it, there are almost 300 people out there who have my phone number.  Not so cool.

I haven’t heard back from that woman, and again, I don’t know what that means.  Was it the same cat and she returned it again?  Was it a different cat and she’s going to be in charge of finding the owner this time?

STOP.  Not my problem.