32 Hours

Lira was a feral cat for 2 ½ years. After someone rescued her, she had surgery to remove five kittens, then put in and thrown out of foster care for biting and scratching. When she was transferred to the Shelter, she bit and scratched everyone who tried to pet her. When I walked into her Shelter room, she let me pick her up and licked my nose, then settled herself in the carry case. She decided she was my cat.

When I brought her home, she reverted to biting and scratching. People told me to give her back. I don’t know why but I couldn’t. I guess I decided she was my cat even though she wasn’t interested in any kind of contact. I had no second thoughts about adopting her. 

Five days went by. One morning, after getting the newspaper, I forgot to make sure the front door was firmly closed. I didn’t know she’d gotten out until a friend came by and said she saw a cat near the side of my house. I felt a pang in my stomach and went out to look. There was Lira. As I walked toward her, she ran. My friend tried to stop her and as she caught her, Lira bit her leg, freed herself, and ran off, up into the hill behind my house.

I was upset and embarrassed about my friend’s wound. We went into my house and I cleaned it up. I suggested she go to urgent care and get it properly treated as well as a tetanus shot. I told her I’d pay for it. 

I was devastated. Friends did their best to comfort me, telling me she’d come back, but how could they know about a cat I’d only had for five days. I couldn’t believe how upset I was. Although Lira was clearly still feral, didn’t purr, wouldn’t allow me to touch her, and cleaned herself continuously when she wasn’t eating or sleeping, she was mine.

I put her carry case, food, and water outside the front door. I called her name. No sign of her. 
Friends’ assurance she ‘d come back left me wanting to scream. How were they so sure?

She’d been gone 32 hours when window washers arrived to clean my windows. I asked them to let me know if they saw a cat and showed them Lira’s photo. About ten minutes later, one of the men knocked on my door to tell me there was a cat sunning itself on the balcony outside my living room. I ran to the patio door. There was my cat, inches away from the end of the balcony. The man, who was 6’7,” offered to go under the balcony and catch her if she decided to jump.

I opened the screen on the patio door. Lira moved closer to the edge, showing no sign of wanting to come inside. I opened the screen door. She was now half on, half off the end of the balcony. Desperate, I grabbed her tail. Hard. She struggled but I held it firmly as I managed to pull her inside the house, and close the screen and patio doors.

She had a bloody ear but otherwise seemed fine. I cleaned up her injuries and tried to hug her. She’d have none of it. As soon as she freed herself from my clutches she ran to her food bowls and sat next to them. Waiting for me to feed her.

Since then, I make sure the front door is firmly closed and lock it to make extra sure. The fear of her getting out and running away has never left me. 

What are you afraid of?

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August 2025 STORIES