Mr. Chuckles ain't no Happy-assed Kitty

Posted by: archestratus

Canvassing during elections, particularly in the Mt-Pleasant & Vancouver-Hastings ridings, is one helluva great way to come across some quirky situations, and some style-ridden people.

Today's story ain't that sweet I suppose, but at least it's brief.

Pulled up on the doorstep of one grand old house near 6th and Grandview. Knocked on the door, ready to let loose with the latest reason this home-dweller was required to vote the Liberals outta office.

A cat bounced up to the other side of the door right quick, and answered with a shill howl.

I figured that a tad strange, and dog-like for a kitty, but knocked on the door again fer good measure.

The kitty mowed a slight more desperately, and then again, in a manner that suggested something was seriously wrong.

I looked down at the threshold, and saw the same leaflet I was packing, shoved under the door, untouched since the last time Jenny came calling. That seemed a touch odd, since the last time Jenny had been round this neighbourhood was a week or two prior.

The kitty was meowin' sumpin' fierce by this time, and I said to my canvass partner, who had just caught up the rear... "this kitty's been left alone, or someone's gone and got dead there inside that house."

So while my canvass compadre starting looking up the number for 911, I stuck my finger through the mail slot to pet the kitty's nose. On the ridge of the slot, sat a few little vittles, which , it became clear, had been left by someone else before us.

We scanned around some more, and found a bag of dry food, that someone had obviously brought in to shove through the mail slot. Further inspection turned up a "call again" notice from the SPCA, indicating on May 9th, that they would be round to do soemthing with the kitty. It was now the 12th, so we rang up that SPCA, to figure out when they figured they'd be coming back round.

Answerin' machine was all we got.

Then buddy from cross the street poked his head out his balcony, and explained to us that Mr. Owner had in fact croaked,a nd that he'd been feeding kitty till the SPCA worked their beuracracy out. I asked about water, and he said he hadn't a way to get it into the house.

So off we went... continuing on with our job.

Till Nat and I returned later that night to pour a puddle of water through the mail-spout for Mr. Chuckles.