Logic versus instinct: dealing with temporary ownership of lost pets

I’m seeing a trend for people rehoming lost pets in “found pets” Facebook groups, with seemingly little effort to trace an owner. An assumption seems to exist the owner has caused the loss or poor state the animal might be in.

Having spent long enough in veterinary practices – in particular, charity vets – I know the story behind each stray pet is often long and complex, and the rightful owner is often not to blame for the pet‘s state.

So, you could say my blood pressure rises a little when I see these accusatory posts. A bit of me gets frustrated people can’t see there may be a well-meaning owner if they just looked a little harder, and I’ve struggled to see this need to “own” a stray pet just because you happen to find it before anyone else.

But recent events have made me realise how quickly that “ownership” feeling can come on. Let me tell you what happened…

First-hand experience

I’d had a long day and usually, if I can get home quickly, I can get an hour‘s writing in before I need to make dinner and, with multiple deadlines looming, I need that hour‘s writing.

I got out my car with my bag, cup and water bottle and, like a slow pack horse, locked the car door and walked towards my flat. As I put my foot on the start of the (short) front path, I heard a mew – a quiet and pathetic mew. I looked to my right and the noise was coming from a bin that had lost its lid (as an aside, where do these go? The same place lost pigeon toes go?).

I panic, thinking it’s kittens, it’s post-Christmas and I bet they’ve been dumped. I put down my cup, bottle, bag and keys, and headed to the bin, saying “hello, I’m coming to help” as I approached.

I heard the mew again. So, I looked in the bin, but nothing was there. I started talking again, saying “I need to find you, are you okay?” I heard the mew again – this time clearly from the hedge behind the bin. It was about 3ft thick and 8ft high, and was hiding something.

I continued to talk and the mews continued, not moving closer or further away, so whatever it was, it was stuck in the hedge.

It was nearly sunset, so getting dark to poke about in a big hedge, and I couldn’t see anyone at first, but then I saw it – a little tabby head and big eyes stuck on some branches. In the middle were older, thick branches that could hold a cat, but to escape meant jumping through a lot of thinner branches, so the kitten was stuck.

Rescue resources

I couldn’t reach it at first; so, certain the kitten was stuck, I headed indoors to get:

• a hoodie to cover my head and stop branches poking me in the eye
• some cat treats to entice the kitten out of the hedge
• a cat basket so I could keep the kitten safe and check it was okay

I headed back out and waved the cat treats bag. The crinkling of the bag opening caught the kitten’s attention and I hoped it would make a move once I threw some on the ground. But no, that wasn’t enough.

I put the hoodie on and headed into the hedge, with my hand just reaching the kitten’s head. It was a little shy, but I could safely stroke and  scruff it from there. As I did so, the kitten relaxed and let me take its whole bodyweight in my other arm. I’m glad I had a cat basket close by, as it was actually quite large, despite the small head – obviously not a starving stray!

I couldn’t see any obvious injuries, but the kitten seemed a little stiff on its hindquarters, so I couldn’t get a look to determine its sex. I did know it wasn’t one of our neighbour’s cats, so I wasn’t sure what to do.

It was nearly 5pm and my veterinary surgery was 30 minutes away in good traffic, let alone rush hour, so I headed to a nearby vet that as, hopefully, a chip would be found.

Striking up a conversation

As I drove the kitten and I talked – in fact, we’d been talking all along, with me reassuring it and it mewing back. We’re having quite the fun time.

By the time we got to the vet, I’d known the kitten for about 30 minutes, yet I felt a responsibility towards it, as if it was mine. This felt a bit weird, but I was quite protective of her already.

The surgery waiting room was empty, I explained the situation and the staff scanned the kitten to find a chip. The staff telephoned the number, but it wasn’t the owner. However, the person knew the owner, so tried get in touch – good news!

Hard goodbyes

As is standard in many practices, I was asked to sign a form saying the cat was no longer mine and I would not even contact the owner to find out if the kitten was okay.

It wrenched at my heart a little – it had been little more than 30 minutes, but I’d started this story with this kitten and wanted to know how it ended; I wanted her to be happy.

I agreed, as I respected the practice was busy and it would do its best for the kitten, but I could understand why some people don’t use the usual channels to find owners and take it on themselves – that feeling of ownership is strong.