Houdini's Story, Chapter 1

In which Houdini pulls off the Great Escape

I had an unpleasant interruption in my routine yesterday afternoon when I was feeding the cats in the lumberyard--one of the cats, I noticed, had what looked like a string hanging out of its mouth. It was fishing line, about six inches long, and at the end of it, swinging around and clacking against things, was a sinker. I was horrified to discover that the line and sinker were dangling from a fishing hook that was embedded in the cat's lower lip.

For a moment, my mind raced in panic. How could I help this cat? There was simply no way I could grab him to get him into a carrier. Even trapping him would be difficult, since the cat in question was none other than the elusive Houdini. A few of the cats in the lumberyard I can hold, others I can at least touch, and I would rate my chances of catching one of them much higher than catching Houdini. How do you think he got his name, after all?

Let me tell you. In the spring of 2014, we noticed an untipped cat hanging out around the feeding stations (meaning the tip of his left ear wasn't cut off, which is how we identify the cats we have already trapped, neutered, and vaccinated). This cat wasn't totally feral - it didn't flee immediately upon sighting a human. In fact, it seemed familiar with the idea of people, but it had a definite wariness in its eyes. I was able to determine it was a male. He was a skinny tom, grey with black marbled tabby markings, a white chin and belly, and white all around the eyes like eyeliner. He was beautiful, and stood out from the muddy-brown, wall-eyed tigers more common in our colony.

Houdini before he was trapped and neutered. Notice his ears are both nice and pointy. Good-lookin' cat, and he knows it too.

I had every intention of trapping him and getting him fixed ASAP, as our colony was freshly established, only about six or seven months old, and I wanted to keep it 100% sterile. But the cat vanished,so I assumed he had just been passing through. He did return, however, turning up every once and a while throughout the summer, just to tease me. His appearances were unreliable, and any time I had some traps out, he was nowhere to be found.

Later, in the fall, he started coming more regularly. I chanced to observe that he was coming from the east, walking along the railroad tracks, usually at close to five o'clock, as if he knew that by then I was long gone. Now that I had an idea of his routine, I could use it to my advantage. I secured an appointment for him to get fixed and borrowed three traps, two of which were rusty and old, but I decided to try them anyway.

In the evening, I carefully laid my traps: one along the railroad tracks, one near the lumber, and one right by the cat food. I perched some distance away and waited. Waiting is always the hardest part. Finally, I heard the metallic snap of a trap! Inwardly, I was gleeful, but I made myself approach with care. The cat was in the trap right by the food bowls. But as I drew near, I found that things had not gone well. The door of the old trap had not shut all the way, and the cat, in desperation to get out, had shoved his head through the gap, followed by his front paws and shoulders. And there he stuck.

I hurried to reach him, thinking I could stuff him back into the trap, but my approach just freaked him out more. Frantically, he clawed the graveled ground with his fore paws, dragging the trap along behind him, the spring-loaded door clamped down on the middle of his back. It was a disturbing sight, and my priority switched to just keeping him from being hurt. Before I could get there, though, he suddenly popped free, shook the trap off, and dashed for the safety of the lumber bins. With dread I watched him go, thinking for sure that he must be hurt - a spine injury, or a broken leg...but while he seemed as shaken up as I was, he was still walking and moving about normally. The incident happened in probably less than a minute, but I can still see it all happening in my mind like a movie in slow motion.

A humane trap like this one is typically used for trapping feral cats. They're normally quite harmless, hence the name. My mistake was using a poor-quality trap. Sorry, Houdini.

The loss was disappointing, not just because I didn't catch him, but also because I knew it was very unlikely I would ever trap him again. Cats have excellent memories, and usually if you trap them once, they'll know better than to get into a trap a second time. But now this cat had actually been hurt by a trap - there was no way he'd ever forget that. I guessed traditional trapping was now out of the equation.

I didn't catch any cats that week, and as I told and retold the story of the cat that got away, I found myself saying things like, "He pulled a Houdini," as I described his daring escape. The name seemed fitting for the elusive cat, and it stuck.

Houdini also stuck...around that is. Despite his trauma, he would put in an appearance a few times a week all through the fall, strutting just out of reach. It was clear he wasn't going anywhere, and we were running out of warm weather, so the question remained:  How to catch him?

Find out how I finally caught Houdini in the next post: Houdini's Story, Chapter 2 - Coming soon!