Kev the Cat. Photo/Will Johnston
Hits radio host, celebrant and MC Will Johnston muses on his indulgent life in the Bay of Plenty.
I'm totally a dog person.
I relate so much to their personality - slightly neurotic, kind of furry, bit dribbly after exercise/while sleeping and super affectionate to those who feed me. I've been known to hug a waiter or two if I'm starving. It's not awkward for my friends and family at all.
So when a little tabby cat that I'd given the odd pat when it wandered through my back yard a couple of times turned up on my doorstep last Tuesday at 7.30am, I wasn't particularly fussed and just went about my normal morning business - main-lining coffee to make me appear like an occasionally reasonable, sometimes kind, functioning human.
Then I heard a couple of desperate, but quiet, meows.
Then I saw it. This poor li'l guy had a fishhook firmly implanted in his mouth and another one hanging free, attached to the one in its mouth.
I got a horrible tingly cold pins and needles feeling, ran to the door, let him in, swiftly cut the free-hanging hook off and locked a cat in my garage.
I know, I'm basically MacGyver - the old series, 'cos the new one is lame-o.
At this point I thought I should name the cat. It's in my garage, it's not a stranger anymore. First name to mind? Kevin. Done.
Animals should have human names and I used to have a rabbit called Murray. And partially adopted a stay ginger cat a wee while back and called him Brian.
So, I took a pic of Kevin and proceeded to knock on at least 30 doors in my neighbourhood with a pic of Kevin on my phone as my opening line.
It's the modern version of 'missing child on a milk carton' I thought.
I was definitely heartened by how every person that opened their door, mid-peanut butter on toast, getting kids ready for school, was sympathetic and willing to help.
One lady even asked if I wanted her to come around and take him to the SPCA if I had to go to work soon.
How's that for community spirit still being alive and well in the region that used to be known as the bastion of the old, grumpy and underpaid (here's looking at you 1990s Tauranga)!
No dice.
No one owned or had even seen Kev before. I called the amazing humans at the SPCA on my walk back home post door-knock. They told me to take him to the local vet and see if he's microchipped and they would sort the fishhook being removed.
I was so worried for Kevy.
Turns out Kevy wasn't worried at all. When I got home he was asleep on my washing machine like he'd lived there for 10 years.
I'm super embarrassed about how I spoke to Kevin as I drove him to the vet and he backed in to the corner of Murray's old VCOP (Vet Cage of Pain) and meowed at the clouds like a broken-spirited animal begging for its life.
My tone and promises that it would be 'over soon' and 'we're nearly there' reminiscent of a stoned Mrs Doubtfire. Think I even had the accent there for a while too! The vet scanned Kev like a hairy bag of chips with legs at Mt New World. Gently. Ding! He beeped like a bag of delicious refined carbs and up came Kev's address.
They can't legally tell me where Kev lives but I told them my addy and they said he may live close to me.
Kev's owners were contacted. He was adopted from the SPCA years ago too. Yay them. Kev was knocked out, hook removed. Success! Turns out Kev had gotten in to a long line with bait that someone else had left out.
Kev returned to my backyard with a sweet shaved cheek, a wee scar that he said the pussies at the local were super attracted to and the same friendly disposition. What a heartbreaker he is now, all shaved and scarred.
Kev's gonna have an epic summer.