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Over a very short span of a few weeks last month, all but one of a beloved colony of cats from Astoria, Queens NY disappeared and are presumed to have met with foul play. Worse, they are not the only cats to go missing from the community. Cats from other colonies are also disappearing and there is evidence that they are meeting a bad end
Caregiver Mary Witty plastered her neighborhood with missing posters and reached out online as seven of the eight cats in the small colony in her back yard vanished; then she began hearing about traps being seen and poison and antifreeze laced cans of cat food being found and she realized she was unlikely to ever see the cats again.
Mary has turned the terrible disappearances into a cause, looking for justice, trying to get an official investigation launched, and seeing that her special cats are remembered for the unique creatures they were.
She set up an Astoria7 website, along with Astoria7 on Twitter and Astoria7 at Facebook, to raise awareness of what’s going on in Astoria, and to warn cat lovers – cat caretakers and petparents – there and elsewhere.
Today brought another disappointment, as the ASPCA’s Humane Law Enforcement Division declined to open an investigation. Mary Witty is asking local residents to join her at attendance at a Queens Community Board Meeting on January 1.
National and international attention may help in bringing local action on the case
Below are excerpts from the Astoria7 Facebook page that tell the story:
January 1: THEIR STORY
In the last three weeks, almost an entire colony (except one little girl) has vanished leaving neighbors heart-broken and outraged. There is no doubt that these cats met with foul play: they were all spayed and neutered, fed 2-3 meals a day, and had winter shelters in which they could escape the elements each night. This small colony was well cared for—even doted on—by local residents who came to know each and every one of them:
OLD MAN GREY (a.k.a. SLATER), the patriarch of the colony, a sweet, handsome, debonair gentleman.
BLACK & WHITE, a lovely senior lady, constant companion and best friend of Old Man Grey.
OLD ORANGE (a.k.a. CHANDLER), a dear old ginger tom who returned faithfully to his private home in my yard every night.
BIG STRIPE, the most elusive and feral of the colony, but also a devoted Mother to Simba (missing), White & Black (missing) and Little Blackie (the lone survivor)
SIMBA, a gentle, sweet little girl who never strayed far from her loving mother (Big Stripe)
WHITE & BLACK, son of Big Stripe and an adorable mischievous boy who roamed the alley with his siblings and best friend, Niece.
NIECE, the adorable young girl, with movie star looks and a happy, playful personality.
These 7 little souls brightened the lives of many: not just the dozens of neighbors who fed and cared for them, but all of our friends and family who visited us and came to know and love these cats as much as we did. These cats would never leave the alley of their own accord, and prior to their disappearance we learned (sadly too late) that there was evidence of attempted poisoning (open tuna fish cans laced with antifreeze). We also found evidence of trapping and we can only assume the worse for these 7 beloved cats. While we are heartbroken, we also find it very disturbing to know that someone in our community could commit such a cold-hearted act—not once, but 7 times!
Ed note: There follows a warning to residents and cat caretakers about tainted/poisoned food and what to look for.
January 3: More on their disappearance and search efforts
When the first cat (Niece) went missing in early December, we assumed after a day or so that she had become locked in a neighbor’s garage. This is not an uncommon occurrence, particularly in cold or inclement weather, and it happened as recently as September to another cat (White & Black) who was locked in a garage for 10 days.
We called daily for Niece, walking up and down the alley, hoping to hear a little mew from one of the garages. About a week after Niece went missing, Old Man Grey disappeared. Mr. Grey’s absence also did not set off an alarm because we knew he had at least one other residence in the area (this is where he retreated last winter when he disappeared for a full three weeks).
We do not know when Big Stripe disappeared because she was an infrequent visitor (often appearing just once every few months). After Grey and Niece, the other cats seemed to disappear very quickly—all during the latter part of the week of December 9th. On the morning of Friday, December 13th, there were only three or four cats at breakfast (and they appeared skittish). When my husband put out food for dinner—there was only one cat left, Little Blackie.
Over the course of that weekend, my sister and I commenced a rigorous foot search of nearby streets and alleys. We knocked on numerous doors and spoke to neighbors. There was no sign of any of the cats. It had become painfully obvious that something terrible had happened.
Because this colony was registered with Neighborhood Cats, we would have received email alerts if a cat was picked up by Animal Care and Control. We did not receive any notifications. However, we also learned that we would not have been notified if a cat was brought to one if the ACC centers. Consequently, on Monday morning (December 15th), we drove to NYC’s Animal Care and Control shelters in Brooklyn, Queens and Manhattan, looking at dozens and dozens of caged, homeless kitties trying to find at least one familiar face. We didn’t find one.
January 3: Our attempts to report this crime
Monday morning (December 15th), I called 311 to find out how to report my missing cats. The 311 operator told me that I had to contact my local police precinct and she transferred my call. The local police precinct told me I had to call 911. I then called 911 and the dispatcher told me that police would not respond to this call. I couldn’t believe this was happening!
My sister and I started contacting friends and animal-advocate organizations to seek advice. A fellow caretaker put us in touch with the Mayor’s Alliance for NYC Cats. The person at Mayor’s Alliance urged us to call the ASPCA’s Humane Law Enforcement (HLE) office. We did, but HLE told us they couldn’t do anything without more solid evidence (i.e. a cat’s body).
This is when we began our own search efforts. Over the course of the next few days, we posted flyers all over the neighborhood, offering a $500 reward. We also began posting missing cat ads and alerts to the community on Craig’s list. These efforts yielded many calls and emails, and we were urged by other caretakers and animal welfare organizations to report this to the police.
So we tried again, this time going in person to the local precinct (someone suggested this might be more effective). The officer at the front desk of my local precinct would not take a report and instead told me to call 911. I did and waited an hour with no response. I called again, and discovered that they did not have a record of my earlier call. The dispatcher apologized and said someone would be respond shortly. No one ever responded.
A heart-breaking situation—the loss of 7 beloved cats—was made that much worse when it seemed like none of the authorities would—or could—help.
January 8: UPDATE ON INVESTIGATION
We had hoped the ASPCA’s Humane Law Enforcement (HLE) unit would open an investigation into our missing cats. We feel there is sufficient circumstantial evidence to pursue a particular neighbor. Unfortunately, HLE decided otherwise.
We are deeply disappointed by this decision, but it also leads us to question evidential requirements in animal cruelty cases. Is the standard used in these cases the same as that used in cases involving human animals? That is, when there is a preponderance of circumstantial evidence, shouldn’t this be sufficient to at least open an investigation or at least warrant an interview?
Though weary by the lack of progress in this case, we refuse to be discouraged by yet another disappointing turn of events. If no justice is to be had for our cats, we are going to make sure that this does not happen to anyone else.
We will be attending the upcoming Queens Community Board meeting to voice our concern (and outrage) over the lack of action by authorities in regard to local cat colonies. Not only has our colony all but disappeared, but other caretakers in this neighborhood have reported multiple disappearances with some colonies greatly diminished in numbers, and others almost entirely decimated. It is time we stand up for our beloved outdoor pets (yes, I consider them my pets—even if they are feral or stray).
Please join us at the next meeting:
Tuesday, January 21st
7:00 p.m.
Astoria World Manor
25-22 Astoria Boulevard
(between Crescent and 27th Streets)
Astoria, NY 11102
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The cats:
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Son of Big Stripe, White & Black was a cute mischievous boy with markings nearly identical to his father, Rough Customer. Though he was close to his siblings, Simba (missing) and Little Blackie (the lone survivor), he was especially fond of Niece (missing), who to our knowledge was unrelated.
Like Niece, White & Black was also quite feral, not as skittish as Niece, but you could not get very close. Niece and White & Black were nearly inseparable, every day embarking on a new adventure together. They were often seen in an adjoining alley where they would lay on top of a sunny wall and watch the goings-on below. Feral cats know that even on a cold day sunshine will warm them up, and what is even better is finding a sunny spot on a second story like the top of a garage or a balcony. White and Black and Niece, both young and athletic, could often be seen in higher places, taking in the sun and the view.
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Simba was a sweet little two and a half year old girl, daughter of Big Stripe (missing) and sister to White and Black (missing) and Little Blackie (the lone survivor). Her coat was mostly white with patches of tabby. Her father may have been Rough Customer, but we do not know for sure. She was a gentle little soul, a little reserved but not skittish, with a sweet happy face.
Simba adored her mother and never strayed too far from her. The two of them fed primarily at a neighbor’s home, where all three siblings had been feeding since they were kittens. Over time, some of the siblings migrated to my yard and began regularly feeding here. But Simba and Big Stripe stayed primarily in the neighbor’s yard which was more secluded and provided easy access to the tops of garages and decks where cats could bask in the sun or make a hasty retreat.
Simba’s caretaker would often open her back door so that Simba could dine in her warm sunny kitchen. Simba was docile enough that she would eat her meal inside, but her mom, Big Stripe, the most feral of the colony, would not. When they arrived together to eat and Simba knew her mom was hungry, Simba would not go inside the kitchen. She would wait by the door until her caretaker wisely knew to place the food outside. Once the food was outside, Simba would step aside and let her mom eat first. She was a loving daughter.
Simba and Big Stripe were devoted to each other, and it is heartbreaking to think how one might have worried for the other, as one by one these cats went missing.
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Niece was a beautiful, two and a half year old tabby with streaks of gold and orange throughout her coat. She was an adorable young girl, with movie star looks and eyes that had a unique, Brenda Starr-like sparkle. She had a happy, playful personality, but she was also quite feral. She had this combination of sweetness and fierceness; you could tell that she wanted to get closer to you, but then she would dart away, her instincts telling her not to trust, not to get too close.
Niece was a regular visitor to my yard, seldom missing breakfast or dinner. I was always happy to see her, though she was rarely alone. While she was not part of Big Stripe’s litter, she was extremely close to all of Stripe’s kittens, especially White and Black. Together these two roamed the alley, searching for some form of amusement. Bird watching was their primary sport, but they also just enjoyed hanging out on top of walls and balconies, basking in the sun. They were inseparable and adorable together.
Next to Old Orange (a.k.a. Chandler), Niece was one of the most playful cats in the alley. I can still picture her last year when we had one of the first snows, a wonderfully dry, light snow. Niece started pushing snow from side to side with her arms—she couldn’t believe this amazing thing! It was light, not wet, and moved whichever way you wanted. She flailed around in the snow for at least 10 minutes, ecstatic over this sudden windfall of entertainment. I watched from inside, laughing out loud at this endearing display of wonder and play.
And Niece infected others with her playfulness. Last Christmas, we gave our outside kitties various toys to play with. Some of the cats seemed at first suspicious or shy, but not Niece. She was the first to grab the little stuffed animal and toss it in the air, pounce on it and toss it around some more. Once she started playing, others joined in. We made a video of this which we will post on this site.
For Niece, almost anything was a toy, including Old Man Grey’s tail. As they waited for their breakfast, Neice would lay behind him, amusing herself with the little grey thing that swished from side to side. Old Grey never seemed to mind, and soon the other young cats would join in on the action.
Niece was the niece of Romeo, who was once a part of this colony until I brought him inside about two years ago. Though born a feral, Romeo was one of the gentlest and least feral cats I have ever met. I could pet him and even lift him off the ground. Niece’s mom was also gentle like Romeo, but Niece herself was much more feral. I am not sure who Niece’s father was, but I suspect it was one of the ginger cats, either Old Orange or a cat we called Rough Orange. Whoever it was, she inherited from him a little wild streak, much like the bright orange splashes in her luxuriously thick, healthy coat. In temperament, Niece was one of the big cats, who just happened to have a little cat’s body.
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Of all the cats in my small colony, I knew Big Stripe the longest. I called her Big Stripe to distinguish her from Little Stripe (I am almost certain her daughter). These two looked nearly identical, but neither would be considered big, they were actually quite petite.
I met Big Stripe when she was a kitten in the spring of 2008. I used to feed her Mom and soon discovered that she kept a little kitten stowed away in a neighbor’s overgrown yard. I remember the first time I saw Big Stripe. It was predawn and I saw a little animal playing in the alley. I could tell by its movements that it was a kitten. In the same second I felt joy and fear—it was so little! I watched what then would become a daily ritual, Big Stripe’s mom brought her out of hiding in the predawn hours and then stowed her back before breakfast. Then one day she brought the kitten with her to breakfast. I felt honored that she trusted me enough to show me her kitten and let me feed her. A short time later, the mother disappeared altogether so then it was just me and Big Stripe, the kitten.
Though her mom was gone, Big Stripe followed the same routine as before, stowing herself away in the neighbor’s yard each day. But as she grew, her patterns changed and it was her turn to go off to find a mate and become a mom.
I am not a hundred percent sure, but I think that she had only one kitten in her first litter, Little Stripe. I saw these two together for a short while, then I starting seeing Little Stripe with another litter of kittens about the same age. By then Big Stripe had become a more infrequent visitor, and when she did appear, it was with a fellow we called Rough Customer.
Rough Customer was the epitome of an alley cat, straight from central casting. His thick gray and white fur was dirty and his face was peppered with scars. He had the countenance of a heavy weight boxer, just past his prime. Rough Customer did not walk, he stomped, pounding the earth with his little paws with each step he took, propelling himself down the alley with the bravado of a lion. As soon as he appeared, all the other cats scattered. All except Big Stripe.
Rough Customer became the friend and protector and mate of Big Stripe, and the father to at least one of her kittens. They were not altogether an unlikely couple because Big Strip was the most elusive and feral of the colony. And Rough Customer was not as bad as he appeared. Big Stripe soon had her second litter and Rough Customer stayed with her and her three kittens Simba (missing), White & Black (missing) and Little Blackie (the lone survivor) for a very long time—long after I spayed Big Stripe. His son, White and Black, inherited his distinctive marking, a crown of grey.
I could see they had become a family unit, but I also saw them much more infrequently. Big Stripe had chosen a residence further down the alley—it had a completely secluded back yard where her kittens could remain safe and hidden. Best of all it was the home of a lovely retired couple who literally opened their door to the kittens, feeding them every morning in their bright sunny kitchen.
Eventually Rough Customer disappeared and Big Stripe remained with her three kittens. As they grew, they too became more independent, except for Simba, who adored and remained very close to her mom.
It is hard to believe that Big Stripe could have been trapped. She was so feral, so wary, even around me—someone she had known and trusted most of her life. But she may have been distraught, if her darling Simba was taken first. And this is another part of the story that is so painful. Nearly every one of these cats had a close relationship with someone else. How stressful and upsetting it must have been for them when that other went missing.
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Black & White was a healthy, happy old girl. She had been spayed for quite some time and was a very predictable cat, spending most of her time between my backyard and my next door neighbor’s. We could rely on her to show up for breakfast and dinner every day. She was a good eater, and rarely missed a meal. Though she was not terribly old in years, she was no longer very nimble and had some difficulty scaling the fence between neighboring yards.
What I loved most about Black & White was her infatuation with Old Man Grey. When he made his entrance to the alley, they became inseparable. Black & White would watch for him just outside the gate and once he turned the corner of the alley, she would dart over to greet him. The two of them weaving their little bodies together, winding and unwinding their tails around each other, greeting each other in the sweetest way. Winding and entwining they would make their way to my back stoop, looking through the glass kitchen door, bumping their heads together and nudging each other lovingly as they awaited breakfast or dinner.
During the winter months, after their meal, they would retire to one of our winter shelters—Black & White had selected one of the finer abodes. Black & White was mistress of her domain (my back yard), and was first to explore and utilize (sometimes claim) each new thing we provided. Thus giving us an immediate sense of satisfaction (thank you, Black & White). She was particularly fond of our patio furniture, and was delighted last year when we sprung for a new set. Her hedonistic enjoyment of all our amenities was a regular source of amusement to us. We watched her and chuckled.
A few years ago, I created a winter shelter by placing some coolers lined with bedding under an outside table and then covered this table with a solar heated pool cover (these were ideas I found on the internet). We were careful to secure the cover so that there were no drafts except near a very small entrance. This actually created a kind of solarium—the afternoon sun would warm up the pool cover, creating an inside temperature that was a good deal warmer than the outside temperature. I had imagined it would provide shelter and enjoyment for multiple cats, but no sooner was it finished, Black & White sauntered in and claimed it as her own. She would share with Old Man Grey, of course, but it was mostly she who could be seen bathing or stretched out and napping beneath the blue-bubbled dome for hours at a time on sunny winter days.
Of all the cats that went missing, it is especially heartbreaking to think that she too had fallen victim to animal cruelty. Black & White lacked any speed or athletic ability, and with her matronly build and short little legs, she was easy prey. A defenseless old lady.
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Old Orange disappeared from my yard around December 12th. Like Black & White, he had become a permanent resident, returning faithfully to his private home every night. While I may refer to him as Old Orange, I respectfully addressed him as Mr. Orange. To many in the neighborhood, he was also known as Chandler. His bright orange coat, his sweet, gentle manner, and beautiful green eyes won over many hearts.
When I first met Old Orange, he was a dissipated old tom, unkempt, with the usual battle scars, and not even remotely interested in human contact. I hesitated to get him neutered because he seemed quite old and I was not sure he would survive the anesthesia. But when he turned up with lesions on his face, throat and body, I knew it was time to take him in. Thankfully, when they neuter and spay feral cats, the ASPCA also administers antibiotics as needed. And that was all that Old Orange needed: his skin began to clear up and over time another cat emerged: this one with a clean, smooth coat and a playful disposition. Of all the cats in the alley, Old Orange was by far the most playful. Almost every day after breakfast he ran and pounced in the alley, jumping in circles, playing with nothing but a little wind. It was a joy to watch him.
Old Orange originally lived in a homemade house designed by my sister. We built this house for another cat that used to frequent the alley, Snowy. Snowy never took to the house, however, and one day in May 2010, Snowy disappeared altogether, leaving us heart-broken. But the house was at last put to good use: it became the fulltime residence of Old Orange, who was so pleased with his abode, he hated to leave it. On cold mornings, I used to serve him breakfast in bed.
Given his attachment to his residence, we were surprised and moved when early one spring he gave up his home to a pregnant female, Little Stripe, so that she could protect her five little kittens from the elements. On rainy and snowy nights, Old Orange would take refuge under the house, which stands about 8 inches off the ground. Old Orange, it turns out, was a real gentleman.
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Old Man Grey was the patriarch of the colony. The other cats respected and adored him. He was their protector. A sweet, handsome gentleman, he was also a favorite among neighbors. His appearance alone elevated the spirits of anyone (almost anyone) who laid eyes on him. We know he had several other homes that he frequented and he was know by these families as Slater and Bunny. The family who named him Bunny gave him warm milk every morning in their kitchen. He was such a friendly cat (undoubtedly a stray), we are certain our grief for Old Man Grey is shared by more than a few.
Of the colony of 8 kitties, Old Man Grey was closest to Black & White. Every day Black & White waited for Grey outside my back gate and when he came into view she dashed over to greet him. Their daily display of tail winding, neck rubbing, and entwined bodies brought joy to us. They were in love, which was clear not only from their public displays of affection, but in everything they did: they shared an abode, they ate from the same dish, they basked in the sun together. They were almost inseparable. But Black & White was not the only one who loved Grey. Almost all of the other females looked for any opportunity to give him a head bump or neck rub. They often had to be sneaky about it because Black & White could be quite jealous. And Grey was so patient with the younger cats, allowing them to the play with his tail while he lay sprawled on my patio. He was a sweet and affectionate cat, and the only cat that I could really pet (back of the head only) and who would purr loudly as I scratched his ruff. Though I refer to him as Old Man Grey, I respectfully addressed him as Mr. Grey or sometimes just Grey. My neighbors referred to him as Gentleman Grey, a name definitely more befitting. There was something about Grey that told you he was a gentleman through and through. First, he was extremely charming, well- mannered and always immaculate. Grey was a Gray Tuxedo, with perfectly symmetrical markings. He literally looked like he was dressed for a white tie affair, missing only a top hat. But it was more than just how he looked. Our alleyway is grassy (which I love), but after a rain or on a dewy morning, Mr. Grey would enter the alley with this ridiculous high stepping walk showing his distaste for getting his impeccably white paws muddy. He carried himself with great dignity, accompanied by an expression that was at the same time serious and inquisitive. There was something about Grey that was uncanny—captured so beautifully by the photo on our homepage, taken by one of our neighbors (thank you, Joe). A photo best described by my sister as a window into Grey’s soul.
Not very long ago, I had conversations with my husband and sister about the definition of debonair. We started to compile a list of men who defined the term. It turns out that this is a much shorter list than one might expect. At the top we all agreed belonged Cary Grant and George Clooney, and there were several other men who we thought could be considered debonair, though most fell short in one way or another of the ideal. That is until my sister mentioned Grey. We all agreed Mr. Grey was debonair, and of the first order. He was the Cary Grant of cats. In his daily rounds, Old Man Grey crossed streets and avenues to visit other families and friends. For years he was able to avoid injury or worse. It is possible that he used up all of his nine lives during these excursions, but it is unthinkable that this wonderfully dignified, profoundly pensive creature fell prey to some cruel trap.
