Several people have asked me about the current status of the stray (and very fancy) Himalayan cat that I tried (and failed) to rescue earlier this summer.
I don't know the gender of said swanky breed cat, but I have named it Bob. (And so, in an effort to be equal opportunity genderriffic, I will further confuse the issue by referring to Bob as a "she". Why? Why not?)
Bob is still hanging around. She won't let me get too close to her -- I think that she is still a little bitter about the humans trying to nab her in the parking lot incident. (Well, "bitter" might be an understatement. "Exceptionally pissed" might be a more accurate way to say it.) I have not found her in the dumpster again, but instead see her laying in the shade by the river that runs behind my house.
Bob is not super skinny, but she is VERY dirty and matted. It makes me sad.
Last weekend, when it was RIDICULOUSLY hot in the Northeast, I saw Bob trying to find someplace cool to curl up, and decided to leave some food and water in the shade near my building for her. So I did, and continue to do so (because now that I've started, I feel like stopping would just be mean... I don't want Bob to be counting on the food and then have it disappear on her. I think her life is hard enough already, you know?) and someone -- hopefully Bob -- is eating the food.
I'd like to say that I have some kind of great plan for Bob, that I'm going to eventually lure her in and that she'll realize I'm her friend and then I can get her to the shelter and it will all end happily, like a Disney movie. (Well, maybe not "Bambi" -- a different Disney movie.)
The truth is, though, that this is one of those times where all I can do is wing it and keep trying. Every morning I go out and hope that I'll see Bob staring at me from the patch of ferns where she likes to nap. I don't try to get too close to her, because if I do, she gets stressed and takes off. Instead, I talk to her and shake the food dish gently. "Hey, Bob, hey, pretty girl, are you hungry today? Here you go," I say, and put the dish down. The neighbors look at me like I'm crazy. Bob kind of looks at me like I'm crazy.
But not doing the best you can? That strikes me as being the crazy thing. So I keep feeding Bob, and hoping for that happy ending.