Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: TUESDAY, July 5, 1994 TAG: 9407080015
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: By ALMENA HUGHES STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
In a peaceful Raleigh Court neighborhood, a real cat burglar prowls. His name is Mozart, although most people just call him Moe. He's really not a bad guy, quite lovable, in fact. But he's got this fabric fetish - this thing for soft, clothy articles - that he can't quite put into words.
There is something about a dish rag or tea cloth, a sock or stuffed animal that compels Moe to take it home. It matters not whether the item is as large or even larger than Moe himself. Only if it's absolutely too cumbersome, as was that adult-sized baseball catcher's mitt; or only if it's too unwieldy, as was that woman's pink-checked sun dress that got all tangled up; or only if the item's owner actively pursues it, like that irate incident with the garden gloves, does Moe give up.
Otherwise, like an obsessed worker ant, he'll persevere, dragging the booty down the street, over a fence, up a tree, across the roof and through an upstairs window of his home.
You'd think feline professionals would show a little compassion about Moe's compulsion. But Moe's veterinarian, Allen R. Bryant of Salem, who has been in practice since 1968, almost choked with laughter when he first heard about it in a telephone conversation with a reporter.
"So that explains the three missing surgical gowns," Bryant joked.
Sunni Swisher, a lifetime cat owner and a receptionist at Veterinarians to Cats, which sees roughly 20 to 30 cats per day, wasn't much better.
"It's not uncommon for cats to have a favorite thing to play with. But it's usually small things, like jewelry or can tabs. I've heard of cats doing a lot of strange things, but never anything like that," Swisher said between guffaws.
Once Bryant regained his composure, he explained that he'd only seen Moe in a professional capacity a couple of times, to administer necessary shots and once to treat a fractured vertebrae, believed to have resulted from a run-in with a car.
"He's just an average tiger cat, weighing about eight pounds. He seems of average temperament," Bryant said.
Pam Newton, a registered nurse and Moe's owner, said Moe came from an ordinary background when she got him from a friend about four years ago. The litter has long since been lost track of, so there's no way to know whether the kitty's kleptomania is genetically predisposed or unique to Moe.
"Moe was the ugliest or maybe I should say the most different-looking one in the litter. But my son, Ashton, insisted that was the one he wanted, so that's the one we took," Newton said.
For the first couple of years, things went smoothly as, living in a house near Williamson Road, Moe grew into a sleek, good-looking grayish striped tabby. Then the family moved to its present location on Westover Avenue, and things changed overnight.
"The morning after we moved, I found a pair of black pantyhose in the yard," Newton said. "I just figured they must have been dropped during the move and didn't pay it too much attention."
But then came a baby's sock and a baby's bib in a household that has no infants. Soon other incongruous articles started showing up in the house, and Newton knew something was amiss.
There was a 9- or 10-inch tall rag doll with bright red hair, and a brand new pair of gloves, not yet even separated.
"There's a man's blue [size extra large] T-shirt that my husband wears. I think every time he walks outside in it, someone's going to say, 'Hey, there's my T-shirt.'"
But so far, no one has. And Moe, of course, is not telling whence it came. Newton said she would return items if she had a clue as to their origins. But, "I'd feel a little strange ringing people's doorbells to ask if this is their underwear," she said.
Since much of Moe's mischief occurs at night, while most people are sleeping, it's even more difficult to track where he's been. Newton said she suspects, though, that his territory ranges at least as far as across the street and five houses away because that's the closest, though not only, source for young children's items. At one point, Newton considered setting up a "reclaim" area, but figuring Moe would probably think she intended it for him, gave up on the idea.
"It's more common among dogs, but cats sometimes bring their owners `gifts,' and that seems to be what Moe is doing," Bryant said. "You especially hear of them bringing home mice or birds to show off their accomplishment at catching them and to give as a gift."
Newton said Moe sometimes catches birds, but he always lets them go. And he's been known to play with a mouse until the poor creature dies of exhaustion. But give them as gifts? Please!
Moe did give his favorite neighbor, Judy Smith, a big, fluffy white dust mitt. He also brought her a doll, which she left on her doorstep in hopes that its owner would happen by and reclaim it. When Smith didn't take the offering inside within what Moe considered a reasonable time, though, he reclaimed it instead and took it home to Newton.
He's a real social animal, Smith said. "He comes running out to greet me at night when I get out of the car and hollers at me."
Newton said Moe also greets people walking down the street, and meows into the house of his neighbors directly across the street whenever their front door is open. If the screen were unlatched he'd probably go inside and make himself comfortable unless, of course, something caught his eye.
"There's probably no point in trying to break him of the habit," said Bryant. "Besides, it probably couldn't be done anyway; you know how cats are. If no one is complaining and he's not doing any harm, I'd say let him be and just be careful what you leave laying around."
by CNB