Entrant's Name
Marguerite

City
Waltham

Pet's Story or Bio
Nelson came to us, from a rescue shelter, on the day of Nelson Mandela‘s memorial service, hence his name. We already had two cats, but neither had “chosen” me to be “their” person, and my husband and daughter presciently knew that this cat would, in fact, “choose” me. He was quickly nicknamed “Mr. Cute,” and did his best to consume all of my attention. That was about seven years ago.

During the winter of 2015, right before the “big snow” began, he slipped outside accidentally, when my brother was bringing in luggage. We live in a coyote-rich suburb of Waltham. Nelson was much beloved, and we visited every house in our (not small) development, left flyers and papered signs everywhere we thought he might have gotten to. We also spoke to Waltham’s animal control officer. When Nelson had been gone for seven weeks, we were heartbroken, but slowly began to admit to ourselves that he was gone for good.

At the beginning of March, for the first time that winter, there were three days in a row when it remained over 32°. The animal control officer from Waltham called, to let us know that there was a cat on a nearby street that was persistently meowing at someone’s door, and looked like it needed help. The woman who called was allergic to cats, and was disinclined to let him in. There were still at least 2 1/2 feet of snow on the ground. We jumped in the car, and before we drove off, I warned everyone that this was unlikely to be Nelson, but that we were going to help whatever cat was there. (I was speaking more to myself than anyone, I think.)

We rounded the corner and saw a dangerously thin and filthy cat, walking down the street, crying. (Remember, there was still deep snow, so that roads were channel-like, at that point.) We immediately knew it was Nelson.

Despite knowing that indoor cats often do not recognize their people if they get out, I stopped the car in the middle of the road, got out, walked right up to him, and scooped him up. There is no doubt in my mind that he knew who I was.

He smelled like a cesspit, and had lost a third of his weight. That evening, after getting some water and a bit of food into him, we took him to an emergency vet, to make sure that he was all right. Even the vet remarked on his filthiness, and suggested that we take him to a groomer. (After telling us that, miraculously, he was undamaged, and would be fine.)

We decided that we were going to keep him separate from the other two cats for one week, and if he was still dirty at the end of that week — to the groomer’s, he would go. But, he must have heard us, because, at the end of the week, he was spic and span white and a very happy cat. And we were a very happy family.

This all occurred days before my birthday, and it was the best birthday present I could’ve wished