This wasn’t the statement of some wild-eyed criminal miscreant. Rather, it was the determined defiance of one of the West End’s most infamous cat ladies.
But now her house sits empty, the windows and doors boarded up. There’s a bold orange “Insanitary” sign plastered on the front door.
Neighbours told me it was quite a scene. Maggie’s last stand. Cops were called to back up health officials who were responding to many community complaints about her house. She resisted them with venomous words and all the force of an aging and sickly body. But the gig was up and she was hauled away.
The scene greeting the officers in that cat-filled house was more akin to the set of a horror movie than a home. But the sights and smells were gut-wrenchingly real.
There was cat mush all over the floors and all over Maggie’s bed. Cat feces on furniture and countertops. Overpowering that stench was the acidic smell of urine sprayed all over the house.
There were dead litters of kittens in varying stages of decomposition. There were inbred and wild cats. There were cats with untreated infections which had led to ruptured eyes and layers of scar tissue.
Besides the cats, the house was swarming with flies. I was told that cockroaches were raining on the people there to help her out of the house. The fridge had become irrelevant, it seemingly hadn’t been used for years. I wondered if she had stopped sharing her food with cats and resorted to sharing their food instead.
Sadly, Maggie is not alone in her predicament. There are other “cat ladies” and men who don’t know when enough is enough. I’ve heard the “experts” in the field refer to these folk as “animal hoarders.” There are thousands of cases reported each year in North America.
Somewhere, somehow, these folks cross the line between caring and compulsion. The story is repeated in homes in many communities.
“Cat ladies” and other animal hoarders start out with the best of intentions. They take in a few animals that are crying out for nurture. In Maggie’s case, it was a few abused and neglected neighbourhood cats. I guess if other people were more responsible with their pets, she may not have reached her limits.
But a pension cheque only goes so far. For various reasons, sterilizing, feeding, litter-boxing, immunizing, treating infections and other issues eventually fall by the wayside. As her utilities were cut off, human waste was added to the squalor.
When animal hoarders begin to recognize that they’ve taken on more than they can handle, they usually won’t approach the humane society for fear the animals will be euthanized. They become the sole defenders of the poor and helpless neighbourhood animals. When strays come, they take them in, rationalizing that it’s “just a visit.”
Neighbours start complaining about cat crap and foul and funky odours enveloping their property. Maggie had no trouble picking sides. She would defend her feline companions to the end. The alienation of the cat lady deepened.
In Maggie’s mind the neighbours became the enemy. Police, health inspectors, mailmen, and social workers all became potential parts of the cat conspiracy.
Deep in denial over the squalid conditions, she tried her best to hide it from prying eyes. She covered some of her windows in plastic and cardboard. She refused to answer the door. Those who persisted were shooed away. It became more and more difficult for even the most sincere to offer their help.
I remember the time she told me that she would likely die in her house. “And when the cats get hungry enough, they’ll just eat my body.” It’s like she knew the end was coming, and that it wouldn’t be a pretty picture.
The profile of cat hoarders is often fuel for the stereotypical “cat lady.” Experts say that often the “cat lady” seems to be a lonely, older women with an unfulfilled need to nurture and slightly compulsive personality. I can think of worse diagnoses.
I guess it’s a free country. Even “cat ladies” have rights. And I will always respect Maggie’s noble intentions. But I’m thankful for those who came to her rescue.
When people become prisoners to their desire to help, captives to a twisted compassion, they can end up accomplishing the opposite of what they first intended. Even the best of helpers – whether for cats or people – need to know and understand their limits.
Well, I guess it’s too late for advice. I’m not sure where Maggie is now, but I sure hope that she’s being cared for in the way she first intended to care for her cats.
Rev. Harry Lehotsky
514 Maryland Street
Winnipeg, Mb R3G 1M5
(204) 775-4929
lehotsky@escape.ca