I’m going to deviate from releasing chapters of my latest book to tell a story. It’s the story of a cat that I’ve been carrying a lot of guilt over for the past 8 years.
Many of you know that while I was living in Rockport, I initiated my own TNR program in my neighborhood, something I wrote about in detail in this blog post. TNR stands for trap-neuter-return and usually refers to cats. I had a feral mama cat living underneath an abandoned house right next to mine, having litter after litter of kittens. The neighborhood was getting overrun with cats. And as much as I love cats, this was not a good situation, and no one was doing anything about it.
I was surrounded mostly by businesses where all the employees went home at 5 p.m.—a church and daycare, a dental office, a coin-op laundry. Of the few residences, on one side of me was that abandoned house, and on the other side was a vacation home where the owners came maybe twice a year to spend the weekend at the beach. If this situation were to get under control, it was going to be up to me.
Fast-forward 18 months later, and I had spayed and neutered close to 20 kittens and a few adult cats, afterward taking them to humane societies (I drove as far as Houston and Austin for placement), or releasing them back into the neighborhood.
Several kittens from two of the litters liked what they saw at Casa Gail: a nice lady with a soft voice, two square meals a day, a shelter out of the rain, and some cushy places to sleep! What’s not to like? When I released them, they came back, again and again.
Leila was one of those kittens. She was closely bonded to her brother, who I called Fred (Fred’s sister was Wilma, who also became a permanent resident). Because Fred stayed, Leila stayed. They were two gorgeous long-haired kittens—Leila was a calico and Fred was black and white.
All the ones who chose to stay eventually became fully domesticated. They did what normal cats do—they climbed into my lap, followed me into the bathroom, slept in my bed, allowed me to pick them up and groom them. They became my pets, getting regular vet visits.
Except Leila. If not for Fred, she would be outdoors, running free. She remained terrified of all humans, including me. She lived in my house for 3 years, sleeping at the end of my bed at night, and still I could not pick her up or pet her. Once a year when it was time for her vet visit, I had to find her when she was sleeping so I could do the sneak attack, scooping her up and popping her into the carrier.
I also saw that she didn’t have good survival instincts. I couldn’t see how she’d make it out there on her own, because she didn’t fight for food. She’d wait to eat until all the others were done, and then she’d eat whatever was leftover. A timid cat doesn’t usually last long in the wild.
Her skittishness was exacerbated by Hurricane Harvey in August 2017. I was away from home during that storm and when I returned, she was more traumatized than all the others by that event. My pet sitter accidentally let her out so she went through the storm outdoors, and by some miracle survived it. But she disappeared for 2 weeks afterward before finding her way back home.
In October 2018, my home was finally repaired from all the hurricane damage, and I put it up for sale. It sold in a week to a woman named Julie, a cash sale, and I had 2 weeks to move out.
The rental property I leased in Houston said I could have cats. When they asked, “how many?” and I answered, “four” they weren’t happy about it, but reluctantly agreed. I actually planned to take five with me and keep quiet about the fifth.
As it was, taking only five meant I had to leave two behind, which devastated me. These cats had become my pets; I’d taken responsibility for them and I’d grown attached to them. What was I going to do, and who would I leave behind? It was a gut-wrenching choice to make.
Two of the former ferals were half-indoor, half-outdoor cats: my Siamese and one of the black-and-whites, Foxy. I thought that they were good candidates for adoption by someone who wouldn’t mind having some outdoor cats. They were two sisters, strongly bonded to each other, never leaving each other’s side. I felt they shouldn’t be separated. I placed several ads but got no takers.
Finally, I talked to Julie, the woman who was purchasing my house, about my situation. I asked if she would consider taking on two cats, as this was the only home they’d ever known?
She was enthusiastic and emphatic. “Absolutely! I love cats! I have one myself, and a dog. Of course I’ll take care of them. Don’t you worry about a thing.”
Well! This was a huge relief to me. I canceled all the ads I’d placed for their adoption and put my mind to getting my house packed up.
The movers arrived the final week and started helping me pack up the house. On the second day, something unforeseen happened.
One of the workers was dismantling the bed in my guest bedroom, when suddenly I hear a loud bang, and he shrieks out in fright.
“Holy shit, that thing scared the hell out of me!!”
When I ran in the room to see what was the matter, the next thing I see is an orange streak of color go flying by me and out the open back door.
Leila had apparently been so frightened of the workers in the house that she’d torn herself a little hidey-hole up in the box spring of that mattress. When the worker started to tear down that bed, he never expected a terrified cat to come flying out of it. I’m not sure who was more frightened, the cat or the worker.
“There she is!” I exclaimed. “I’ve been looking for that cat for two days! I had no idea she’d made a hole in that mattress and that’s where she’s been hiding ever since you guys arrived. Awww man, look at that. She’s made a real mess of it, hasn’t she?”
I sighed. She’d totally shredded the bottom lining of that box spring. Just one more thing for me to deal with later. And now I had to try to catch her before we took off for Houston.
But a few days later when we had to hit the road, it was not to be. She’d headed for the hills. I called and called and Leila was gone. The movers pushed me: “We’ve got to go. We’ve got a schedule to keep and a 3-hour drive ahead of us. We have to leave.”
My other cats were at a boarding facility and I had to pick them up. (Leila would not be captured even for this trip.) Feeling devastated and guilty for not keeping her safe (why didn’t I make sure they kept all the doors closed??), I reluctantly got in the car and drove away, saying goodbye to my Rockport home, Siam, and Foxy, who sat in the driveway watching me go.
I texted Julie to let her know what happened, asking her to keep an eye out for Leila in case she came back.
***
Six months later, I was shocked to find out that Julie, the new owner, had put my former Rockport home up for sale and was no longer even living in Rockport. She’d moved back to Wisconsin where she’d previously lived.
I found this out because she still had possession of the historical documents that related to the home’s historical marker. She contacted me because she wanted to know who in Rockport they should be transferred to, as she was selling the property.
I immediately asked her, “But what has happened to the cats? You were taking care of Siam and Foxy, and did Leila ever come back? Who is taking care of them after you left?”
Her nonchalant reply: “Oh, they took off a long time ago. They weren’t happy in my back yard. I have a big dog and I guess they were afraid of him. I think they hang out by the QuikStop.”
This was news to me. The last series of texts I got from her painted a completely different picture. She wrote about how, “Siam lets me pet her now” and “I think soon I’ll be able to take them both indoors” and “They are both so sweet.” She never told me the dog had chased them off.
I was so upset by this that my wheels instantly started to turn. It was a Thursday and I immediately changed my plans for the weekend. I asked her permission to drive down there on Saturday, enter her property, and see if I could recapture the cats and bring them back up to Houston with me. I couldn’t stand the thought that those kitties were abandoned, and possibly living out of dumpsters. I hoped they still remembered me.
She agreed I could go on her property as long as the realtor wasn’t there showing it, so I headed down there on Saturday. I packed up everything I thought I might need: crates, treats, cat food, bedding, traps, cans of tuna.
When I arrived in the late morning and parked in the driveway, I immediately saw Foxy in the back yard. She was a little nervous at first because she hadn’t seen me in a long time, but as soon as I started talking softly to her, she realized who I was. I knew she must be hungry so I filled bowls with food and water and put them out on the back deck. And before I knew it, I heard another meow I recognized: Leila!
Oh, the sight of that beautiful cat, next to Foxy at the food dish, it just made my heart soar. They had been together this whole time, keeping each other company. But where was Siam, I wondered?
I remembered what she’d said about the QuikStop, so I let them eat while I drove over there; it was only about a block away. I waited until all the other customers left and then I asked about a beautiful, blue-eyed Siamese cat: had there been one hanging around here? I told them I used to own one in the area but moved away about 6 months ago. Without going into a lot of detail, I just said I’d lost my cat and heard it might be hanging around this store.
“Yes!” the cashier said. “There was one here, for several months! But one customer took a liking to it. She tried to befriend it for the longest time…I guess she was finally successful. I think she took it home a few weeks ago.”
My heart sank when I heard this. “Oh no! Really? I guess I’m too late…Well, if she ever comes back in, maybe you can give her my name and number. I’d at least like to talk to her. Maybe ask her to call me?”
I left my details with the store and went back to the house. I was able to pick up Foxy and put her into the carrier in my car. But not Leila. She was now wilder than ever, and wouldn’t let me within 6 feet of her.
The only thing I could think of was to set up the Hav-a-Hart trap I brought, and put an open can of tuna in the back of it. In the past, tuna was irresistible to her. I put this on the back deck and left for lunch with my friend Kam. As we drove off, she was about 2 feet in front of that trap, smelling that tuna.
An hour later we returned. And there Leila was. She hadn’t budged, still 2 feet in front of that trap. She’d grown too smart to walk into a trap.
Even Kam, who is also cat-obsessed and a big collector of strays, was amazed that she resisted it. We sat on the back porch and talked for about an hour longer, trying to decide what to do. I’d used all my tricks and I was out of ideas. Leila was staying at least 10 feet away from us, but Kam had gotten a good look at her. I was getting worried about Foxy in the hot car, and I had another 3-hour drive in front of me. It was time for me to go.
I reluctantly got in my car, devastated once again that I was driving away without Leila. My sweet friend Kam agreed to come by and feed Leila until they sold that house, which she did every day for the next year.
My rescue effort was in the summer of 2019. Kam fed her until the summer of 2020. Then Kam said a neighbor over the back fence was taking over, as Leila was starting to show up over there. Around January of 2021, a freak winter freeze moved through south Texas. The neighbor told Kam that Leila disappeared after that, and we all assumed she didn’t survive that storm. I heard no more news about Leila after that.
***
I’ve thought about her so many times over the years, and carried so much sadness about the way her story turned out. I’d wished I’d been a better pet parent, taken care to keep doors closed and keep her safe, knowing she’d be frightened of the strangers. I blamed myself for my carelessness and sent apologies a thousand times to the heavens, hoping she heard me.
***
It took more than a year for Julie to find a new buyer for that house, but eventually she sold it to a woman named Theresa in the summer of 2020. For various reasons, I’m also in touch with Theresa. Occasionally, mail still arrives there for me, which she forwards on to me. Or, she has questions about the remodeling I’ve done, or something in the garden.
***
It’s June of 2026, and I’m in Seattle attending a few family events. While hanging out with my sister Darlene, I’m surprised to get a text from Theresa.
Theresa: “Weird question, but do you remember a female calico kitty that used to hang around the house? Wasn’t sure if she was around when you lived here.”
Me: “Yes!! Sounds like it could be Leila. Let me find a picture of her.”
As I’m hunting on my laptop for old photos of Leila, I excitedly tell my sister the story of Leila. “My God, could it really be her, after all this time?”
Darlene, who knows my proclivity for leaping into action to save a cat, says, “Hmm. If it’s her, how are you gonna go and get that one, I wonder?” Living in Washington state, I’m not exactly an easy drive to south Texas anymore.
“Well, let’s just see what she says.”
I sent her the following photo: Leila in one of her favorite sleeping spots, along with the note: “Is this her? She was my cat and she went missing for a long time; I had to leave town without her…”
She texts back:
“That’s her! I called her Kiki. I thought she may have been here with you! I sort of adopted her when I bought the house (as much as you can with an outdoor kitty) and grew to really love her.
Sadly, she passed today. She developed cancer and it was too advanced to treat so I had to make the decision to give her peace.
She was such a sweet girl! Just in case she shared a portion of your life with you, I wanted to let you know. She was very well taken care of and loved!”
[and later] It was important for me to let you know just in case she was one of yours. Now she’s looking down on both of us!”
To read these words, and to learn that Leila’s story had a much different ending than the horrible one I’d envisioned—that she hadn’t starved or frozen to death—well, it meant the world to me. To know that she had been loved and cared for these past 5 years, and even had a passing with dignity after her cancer diagnosis—it just made my heart sing.
If you’ve ever loved a pet and had the agony of losing that pet, not knowing what became of them, you might understand my joy in telling this story. My joy in the much happier ending for the sweet girl who was afraid of the world, but found two or three women (Kam, I’m including you here) who accepted and loved her just the way she was, letting her live life on her terms.
***
The woman who adopted Siam did call me the following week. She told me she’d already taken her to the vet and she’d gotten a new series of vaccinations. They lived on a houseboat, which Siam was still adjusting to. They loved her so much, and already had posted many pictures of their new family member on Facebook.
“But,” she said, “she’s your cat. If you want her back, I’ll certainly understand. We knew she had been well taken care of by somebody.”
After listening to all this, I just couldn’t do it. The kitty had already been through so much trauma and separation, and I couldn’t force another one on her. I had a houseful of cats to take care of, more than was allowed on my lease. I got on the phone with the Rockport vet and gave permission for an official transfer of all her records to the new owner, so she would have Siam’s full history. And I wished them a lifetime of happiness together.
***
If this story resonated with you, or you know someone who would enjoy it, please share it! These days, we all can use a pick-me-up, right? I’d also appreciate any comments you want to leave below.
