There are few experiences more humbling than having a snarling, terrified feral cat attached to your thigh.
It's the perfect marriage of physical and psychological pain: The absurdity of the situation stings as sharply as the claws sinking into your flesh like snelled hooks. You can't fathom that so small a creature can be so fierce, or that you were fool enough to frighten it. Yet there you are, and there it is, attached to your thigh and climbing north.
And there I was, in a friend's backyard about 20 years ago. A big, orange Tom had rid the vicinity of birds, squirrels and rabbits and was relentless in his pursuit of loose females who could keep his bloodline flowing. I had a pair of work gloves, a cage and a few beers' worth of liquid courage. I have never been so unarmed.
I cornered the miserable thing, a mistake in dealing with any wild animal you don't intend to kill. My intent was to capture him. His intent was to stay free. Liberty lay a few yards beyond me, and he was determined to reach it or to die trying.
When I realized he wanted to be free more than I wanted to confine him, I made a bar of my arms just below my groin and stood as still as possible. When he sensed my surrender, he let go and scurried away. After they stopped laughing, my friends prescribed a couple more beers and a tetanus shot. We were down to a six-pack, and since the average ER wait at the time required a 12-pack at a minimum, I skipped the shot.
Last summer, a University of Scranton student named Peter Freshour found himself with a feral cat attached to his leg. He had a knife, and he stabbed the cat to death. He stood trial on an animal cruelty charge on Monday, and a jury acquitted him.
"It came at me with ferocity," the 21-year-old history and political science major testified. He said he tried to shake the cat off, but when it wouldn't let go, he stabbed it "two or three times." The cat crawled away "crying," Mr. Freshour said, so he "finished it off."
Two witnesses testified they saw Mr. Freshour stab the cat, which neighbors said was friendly and called "Pepper" and "Baby," but did not see it attack him.
A city police officer said he observed no injuries on Mr. Freshour and that he said nothing about the cat attacking him immediately after the stabbing. Asked Monday by a prosecutor if stabbing the cat was an extreme response, he said, "I think that's easy to say in hindsight."
He's right, but then just about anything is clearer with the benefit of reflection. Most people have no clue what having a snarling, terrified feral cat attached to your leg feels like. Most people don't carry knives, either. Why does a 6-foot, 220-pound former high school football player and wrestler feel the need to carry a blade?
And what about Wilson's disease? I had never heard of it until Paul Walker, Mr. Freshour's attorney, raised it in court. He said his client stabbed the cat in part because he was worried about what diseases it might carry. After a few seconds of Googling, I learned that Wilson's disease is marked by an accumulation of copper in the body, which can damage the liver and other organs. It can also cause psychological problems, including impulsivity, impaired judgment, depression, anxiety and psychosis.
Hmm.
Mr. Freshour's acquittal was naturally met with outrage by animal activists who mocked his professed love for his own cat, which he said is named Largo.
"In my mind, he is guilty, he always will be guilty, he knows he's guilty," said Denise Kumor, founder of Tracey's Hope, a nonprofit offering care for sick and terminally ill pets.
Mr. Freshour has also taken a beating online. Via the Internet, he is globally infamous as a "cat-stabber." He says he's been inundated with hate mail and had to cancel his Facebook membership. Fair or not, he should get used to such scrutiny.
For the rest of his life, potential employers and dates need only Google his name to learn that he stood trial for stabbing a cat and has a disease that can cause liver failure and psychosis. These are not the sort of attributes anyone voluntarily shares on a résumé or online dating profile.
That's Mr. Freshour's problem. The feral cat problem belongs to all of us.
There are as many as 70 million feral cats in America today, and the number grows with each new litter. They kill birds and other wildlife, spread disease, lead lives of misery and at least one of them pees on my newspaper every morning.
My wife and I have six housecats (yes, that's crazy), and all but two of them were born in our backyard or down the street at my cousin's place.
We have found homes for four litters of kittens, and are trying to trap and spay/neuter our way out of a cycle of madness that produces more cats that will never know warmth, health, happiness or the loving touch of a human hand that wouldn't hurt them for the world.
It's a slow, frustrating and costly process, but it sure beats stabbing them to death.
CHRIS KELLY, the Times-Tribune columnist, has a stray kitten who desperately needs a home, if you're interested. Contact the writer: kellysworld@timesshamrock.com