Poor Shirley!

I've probably mentioned our cats at some point. Yes, we're a "dog family." Cats aren't my favorite animals (they kill, even if they've been well fed, they fight, they piss on things & make them smell nasty, etc.), but there are feral cats that live under the back of our house--a mother and son. They're definitely our cats, and I do worry about them. Despite their not being my favorite type of animals, I like all animals.

These cats are descended from a long line of feral cats that began with one pregnant cat back when I was a kid (remember, Marc and I now live in the house I grew up in, having remodeled it after my Mom's death). We care about animals in this family, so we had to help out. We fed the pregnant cat, and we've had cats in the yard ever since.

So now we have Shirley and her son. They're the last of the line, having been fixed, but they're hardy. Shirley is an old cat, but she keeps on going. We've lost track of her age, but we know she's into double digits. Pretty good for a feral cat.

Anyhow, tonight I put their food out, and Shirley was a little slow showing up. When she finally came into view, something was dragging along beside her. At first, I couldn't tell what it was. Then, as she came closer, I could see what was going on.

A grimy plastic bag was wrapped around her neck. It was twisted and stuck there. I know it wasn't there last night, but I have no idea how long she's dragged it around since then. Thank God she didn't get it snagged somewhere, panic and strangle herself. Still, she looked so depressed, and she may have had to endure some true panic today.

Fortunately, she's mellow enough that she let me pet her and slowly slip it off of her neck. She's fine, but I can't help but feeling sorry for her. The poor girl.