Ten days ago, one of our neighborhood feral cats died somehow, and was lying in the gutter of the unoccupied house next door. We called Animal Control, which is a division of our local police department. A recording informed us that we were to leave the address of the dead animal, and that an Animal Control Officer would be out ASAP to make the removal. The recording also informed us that pickups would only be made on public property, not private. Of course, this was not a problem; the poor cat was in the public street.
Two days later, the animal was still lying there. We considered burying it ourselves, but there is a local law prohibiting that. I suggested bagging it and putting it in the garbage. Again, no- local ordinance. We made another phone call and again got the recording.
The odor increased.
On the fifth day, we made another call. Same recording.
The stench increased.
Seventh day. Another phone call. Now the neighborhood kids were surreptitiously poking sticks at it. Summer science lab, I guess.
The smell was now abominable in the heat and humidity.
Eighth day. The street sweeper came by about 5 AM. A few hours later, we noticed the cat was gone.
But the fetor remained. The cat had been flicked up into the bushes of the empty house.
Today we phoned the City Manager. We suggested they let the police department know that a whole week had gone by with no service, and that we'd be happy to deliver the carcass to the station if it would help.
Thirty minutes later, the Animal Control wagon showed up. Seeing no cat in the gutter, she cruised on by. I flagged her down, and she flipped the vehicle around.
We pointed out the cat that was now up in the bushes. She coolly cited the city code and said she was not able to remove it because it was on private property.
We reminded her that it was on city property for a week, and that her unit had failed to come in a timely manner.
Sighing deeply, she apologized and remained steadfast that it was beyond her scope. "Sorry, it's on private property!" We suggested she phone her supervisor. By now, Rick was so frustrated he went into the house, I assumed to maintain his cool.
Next thing I knew, while the Animal Control Officer was on the radio with her Sgt., Rick came strolling out of our garage with a shovel. He calmly tossed the poor carcass back into the street, pointed and smiled.
She picked it up and hauled it away. Thank you, Dutiful Public Servant.
