Kidnapped. A True Crime Story.

Philip The Cat

Hello. Hello? HELLO?? I am reporting a kidnapping.

A street cat named Philip was abducted at approximately 3:15 p.m. on Sunday in broad daylight in Northeast Washington D.C.

The perpetrators were described as an elderly white male of unkempt appearance, approx. 5 foot 9 inches tall, and a younger white female accomplice, approx. five foot ten inches tall with very, very short hair. They were still at large as of this writing. They are Rachel and me.

We conspired to capture and imprison Philip in our home overnight through the following stratagem: We lured him to our doorstep via the promise of food, and then swept him inside and slammed the door behind him. We did this so he would not become a popsicle when the temperature dipped to 16 degrees.

Philip was enormously indignant and offended by this intolerable threat to his freedom, and he hissed a bit. But he and we both knew he has not yet mastered the scientific principle of the doorknob, and so he remains, as of this writing, our docile, sullen prisoner.

The most interesting part of this otherwise quotidian tale is that Philip’s feral instincts soon began to subside, in much the way wild wolves became slowly domesticated in symbiosis with the people they needed and loved, and vice versa. Philip’s social evolution was somewhat telescoped. It took about an hour. The video below captures the moment that Philip learned that rhythmic stroking on the head and spine can be pacifying, especially if accompanied by the presence of a soft blanket that can be kneaded and suckled, a reminder, perhaps, of his beloved long-deceased mother, who was likely a common street trollop, but we need not dwell on that.

Anyway, we have him consigned to the dungeon basement. We did that so that Lexi, our four-year-old hound — a species bred to hunt and kill — never discovered Philip was here. (We had locked Lexi in a bedroom while the kidnapping was perpetrated. She remained, as is her custom, clueless).

With Philip safely ensconced in the basement, Lexi was let out. She prowled around, aware that something was awry. She could smell the injustice in the air. But she didn’t know where it came from. She heard the cat yowling a couple of times, but assumed Philip was outside on the front porch, which is where Philip always goes when he decides to importune us for food. Lexi doesn’t exactly hate Philip — they have touched noses — but she always wants to assert her dominance via terrorizing him from behind glass. So she took her place at the front window, and that is where she remained for the longest time, searching for a sign of the damnable feline who would cower under her impotent growls and bend to her will. She is very angry at the porch, so far.

It’s so sad, Lexi. The guy is just 60 feet behind you, behind a door.

That’s where things stand, for the moment. Tense. Dramatic.

Just keeping you all up to date.

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Meanwhile, here is today’s Gene Pool Gene Poll.

You need to drive to a place 100 miles away. You do not know the area, but your GPS informs you there are two routes: Route A is more direct. It takes you there in 2 hours flat but involves some traffic slowdowns and tie-ups along the way. The other is pure highway, no delays, but will take 20 minutes longer. You are in no particular rush.

Good.

Please send in any thoughts or observations at all to the ATOOAA button below.

And finally, here’s my solemn pledge to you: If you upgrade to a paid subscription, I will write less frequently about cats and dogs. Or more frequently. Whichever you prefer.

See you on Tuesday, or sooner.