February 3, 2026

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟑𝟒: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐭 𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐝 (𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐨'𝐝 𝐁𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐀𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠)

Before I get into today, I need to catch up on the whirlwind of the last few days. Buckle up.

𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐲 brought eight intakes—four seniors, one return, two strays found outside an employee's apartment, and one handsome 1.5-year-old boy. We balanced that with two adult adoptions. One was a return from last year who found a perfect new home with someone I literally watched grow up here at the shelter. Full circle moments like that remind you why you do this work. The other was Miss Pelling, who we'd been baffled hadn't been scooped up sooner. Saturday left us with our hands full.

𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲 meant prep for Doctor Day. Our vet was back from her honeymoon, and after two weeks without her, I had stacked the exam schedule. The day ended heavy though. We'd taken in a senior back in October already in kidney failure—numbers bad enough I thought we'd have weeks with him at most. He surprised us, greeted us every time we entered his room, gave us months we didn't expect. But Sunday, we saw he was slowing down, losing weight. Bloodwork confirmed his kidneys had finally given up. After some love and some whipped cream, we said goodbye.

𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲 started strong. We had a sweet boy with glaucoma who wouldn't tolerate treatment on the floor, so we took the eye. Surgery went smoothly. Spays, neuters, a mountain of exams. Then came the hard part.

You may remember our bonded ginger boys. Over the last week, we'd been watching a change. The one who'd had the feeding tube was withdrawing. His brother started venturing out into Medical, spending less time with him—his way of telling us his brother was giving up. We rechecked bloodwork. Liver values shot back up. It was time. His brother walked around the table while we said goodbye, and afterward we showed him so he'd know his brother was gone.

Now, about the cat under the shed.

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬, we'd had a stray cat hiding under one of the back sheds. We could hear him cry but couldn't see him. Traps went out Thursday. He was trap savvy—wouldn't take the bait. But he was talking to us nonstop, which outside cats don't normally do. A good friend brought over a drop trap—much larger surface area, string-operated kickstand, food underneath. More appealing to a smart cat.

Saturday and Sunday, he kept talking from under the shed but wouldn't fully emerge. We dug out the area so he could get out easier, got eyes on him with cameras. He'd come out further to eat, but not far enough. The drop trap sat ready.

𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, we tried again. And then something ridiculous happened.

Jack Jack—our property cat we've seen around since 2022, the one we gave up trying to trap years ago—walked right under the drop trap. BAM. Captured. I couldn't believe it.

Getting him from drop trap to transfer cage to kennel required careful choreography, but we pulled it off. He scraped some skin off his head bouncing around during capture, but he was safe inside. The mayhem of catching Jack scared our original target back under the shed. By 11 p.m., exhausted, we called it. The second I locked up and walked out, the camera dinged. He strutted out like we hadn't spent hours waiting for him. A regular trap was set. All we could do was hope.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠, I arrived to find the trap still set and empty. I was devastated. I talked to him under the shed—silence. Then I checked one more spot my friend had mentioned seeing him the night before.

He answered.

He was in an insulated box we'd put out for property cats. One way in. One way out. This was my chance.

I grabbed my team. We grabbed the net we'd retired to storage because I hate using them. I blocked the entrance with the net, held food against it to stabilize it. My team opened the lid. He shot straight out the hole into the net. I yanked the string. We had him.
I rushed him inside, got him in a kennel, then came the tedious work of untangling him from the net. Once we did, we let him decompress while we got back to morning routines.

As it turns out, our new boy is really sweet. Super talkative. Ate all his food, gave us headbutts and purrs when we checked temperament. I felt more relieved than I'd felt in a long time.

Now, Jack.

The plan: get him out carefully, microchip him, draw blood for disease testing, hold him in a trap while we waited for results, then squeeze him to the back for vaccines and release.

I always scan before placing a chip to make sure there isn't one already.

My jaw hit the floor.

He had a microchip.

Holly joked it would be something if the chip was registered to us.
It was registered to us.

Detective work began. We discovered previous teams had trapped him on the property back in 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟖. That explained why he was trap savvy—last time he got in a trap, he was neutered. After three weeks inside, he was released back outside. That's no longer something we do. Previous teams didn't know how to socialize outdoor cats the way we do now.

So now what?

We always prefer cats stay inside. We don't adopt to people who want indoor/outdoor. How could we send him back out? After discussion, we decided to give him a chance. He's no stranger to the shelter—just a stranger to the inside of it. If he can come around, he'll join GenPop. If he absolutely can't handle it and becomes dangerous, we'll have to release him back outside. His comfort and stress levels will guide us. Please pray the outcome is inside. He deserves to have everything he needs safely indoors.

This day was so full of emotion and questions. And that was just how it started. We also had a bottle baby arrive and got a long-term resident out to her new home.

The last few days have been a rollercoaster of long days, long nights, and hoping we'd get some cats to safety. All of it was worth it for these outcomes. I'm exhausted. I hope I got enough wins that I can sleep well tonight.