Or if your sense of humor tends toward the scatological, you can donate to put your ex’s name on a litter box.
Like other nonprofits, animal shelters face steep competition when it comes to scoring charitable donations, so the more a shelter can stand out, the better.
For some that means stories about their rescues and pets-in-waiting going viral. For others, it means finding clever ways to use occasions like Valentine’s Day to raise money.
One of the latest fads involves making a donation to pay for spay/neuter surgery for a street or shelter cat — and having the cat named after your ex. As one shelter puts it, “because some things shouldn’t breed.”
Poor Scram has no idea he’s a stand-in for a despised ex.
If the idea of castrating an ex seems a little morbid to you, you’ve still got options.
For just $5, Albuquerque, New Mexico’s Nine Lives Shelter will write your ex’s name on a litter box.
“Our foster cats and kittens will handle the rest by doing what they do best,” the shelter’s staff wrote on Facebook.
Of course, there’s another option for people who prefer a more positive take: donating out of love for cats in general, because despite the encouraging drop in animal euthanasia over the past two decades — the result of relentless campaigns to get pets and street cats spayed/neutered — a few hundred thousand cats are put down every year. Every time a cat is fixed, that number drops, and existing cats have a better chance of finding forever homes.
A reboot of the iconic scifi-horror film upends the balance of power, placing the feline at the very top where he should be.
The long-anticipated Alien reboot starring Buddy the Cat hit theaters this weekend with audiences flocking to see the modernized classic after effusive praise from critics.
Featuring the new tag line “In space no one can hear you scream — unless you’ve got Buddy on your side,” the reboot reimagines the science fiction-horror classic as a cautionary tale about messing with cats.
“While the original built tension over almost two hours and inspired an overwhelming feeling of dread in viewers, the new Alien clocks in at just 28 minutes and ends right after the iconic chestburster scene,” critic Ferdinand Lyle wrote. “Instead of screeching into the shadows of the ship to commence its turbocharged metabolic processes, only to emerge later as a fully formed creature who terrorizes the crew, this alien is immediately caught by Buddy, who delivers a swift kill bite and deposits it in front of the humans. They reward him with a chorus of ‘Good boy!’ and rub his head while plying him with snacks, and the credits roll. Now that’s efficient storytelling!”
The Alien 👽 was no match for Buddy, who woke from a nap to dispatch the creature with brutal efficiency.
The new version is “the ultimate FAFO flick,” raved the AP’s Misty Lemire.
“The central message here is ‘Don’t tangle with Buddy.’ The apex predator of the cosmos is no match for the apex predator of Earth.”
Other critics were enamored with a post-credits dance scene featuring Buddy, the crew of the Nostromo and dozens of face-huggers who fly through the air, forcing the cast to bust impressive dance moves to avoid the dangerous creatures. At one point Buddy launches into a breakdance routine. The actress who plays Ripley wags a finger at a xenomorph and declares “You just got served!”
“It’s clever, light and wildly entertaining,” one critic wrote. “Buddy’s got some magnificent dance moves!”
Others praised Buddy for his impressive physique. In an interview with Entertainment Weekly, Buddy said he’d been training non-stop for eight months for the role, eating a high-protein diet and spending five hours a day napping in the gym to accentuate his meowsculature.
“The effort paid off big time,” a review from Calico Critics noted. “Buddy looks more ripped and impressive than he ever has, and he was already competing against a high bar he set during his previous films.”
In the post-credits dance scene, Buddy and the Nostromo crew perform a synchronized routine while dodging facehuggers.
However, not everyone was impressed. Reached this weekend at his New Zealand bunker, where he’s fled “until America isn’t annoying anymore,” director James Cameron called the Alien reboot “derivative, low-calorie cinema junk.”
“Remember when I had characters saying ‘Hasta la vista’ and ‘Adios, muchachos’? That was really cool. I was one bad hombre,” Cameron said. “Audiences might think this is a good film, but that’s because they haven’t seen the wonders of Avatar XVII yet. Just wait, it’s gonna be awesome. And there are no cats.”
In the seedy underbelly of Paw City, where niplords run kitty crack empires and feral gangs fight eternal turf wars, one unshakable detective brings the bad cats to justice.
The call came in after midnight.
Shots fired near Burmese Boulevard, with witnesses reporting one party fleeing the scene in a car while another took off on foot.
Normally I’d tend to other biz and let one of the kids in the detective bureau have their shot, but the commissioner’s on my ass and the mayor is worried about what the headlines will do to the tourism economy.
Leave it to the leaders of a dump like Paw City to care more about the scratch in their pockets than the felines they’re supposed to protect.
But I’m a grizzled detective. I know where the real power naps, and it ain’t city hall.
It’s Scratcher Tower, home of the international consortium that runs Big Yums, controlling the flow of every last morsel of kibble into this forsaken city. The Fat Cats on the top floor, they call the shots, control the mayor and have their paws in every pie. If it’s biz, the Fat Cats get their cut.
The feds? They talked a big game last year when they popped Angelo Felinzino and nailed him on a racketeering charge that earned him 15 to 20 in the slammer. But the Fat Cats are a hydra, and even though Felinzino was rumored to be the consortium’s top earner, the fellas in Scratcher Tower’s penthouse didn’t miss a beat.
It was pouring by the time I pulled up near the corner of Tortoiseshell Street and Burmese Boulevard. I padded out of the warm comfort of my ride, the Budmobile, and told it to watch my back. The Budmobile’s AI chimed in acknowledgement and miniature silos opened on each rear quarter panel, ejecting a pair of drones. One drone circled above me in a defensive posture while the other zoomed ahead, scouting my path.
I tasted wet rain and something else. My nose wrinkled, pulling me toward a funky scent. I crouched, sniffing the sidewalk, and that’s when I saw them: crumbs made soggy by the downpour, their addictive chemicals turning a shade of toxic lime as they interacted with the acid rain.
Tempheads are dangerous. They’ll do anything to get their fix, even if it means stealing from littermates or breaking into homes to raid the treat cupboards.
No Temphead was going to catch me off guard, I thought as I placed a paw on my holster and felt the reassuring grip of Thunderclaw. The old revolver was reliable and had legitimate stopping power. The sight of it alone was often enough to get bad guys to back down.
Lightning cracked the sky as I followed the crumbs down Burmese Boulevard, under the old wrought iron bridge and into a back alley.
I paused and sniffed. The Temphead had lingered here at the door to a shady-looking ripperdoc clinic, probably trying to get them to buzz him in. The ripperdoc was smart, didn’t want anyone bringing heat down on his clinic, so he turned the Temphead away.
My keen sense of smell and my detective’s intuition told me the Temphead quickly moved on, and sure enough, there were more crumbs ahead, where the alley made a sharp right turn toward a cross street.
I padded ahead, nose leading the way, and looked up.
The Bradbury Building.
Once a symbol of commerce in the city’s gilded age, now a dilapidated microcosm of Paw City, its former glory obscured beneath decades of grime and decay.
Patting Thunderclaw again for reassurance, I pushed against the heavy bronze doors and into the gloom inside.
My ears prickled in the funereal silence, and my whiskers felt movement in the air currents. There!
A shadowy figure was heading for one of the exits.
Justice is my job, and what kind of cat would I be if I didn’t have the swiftness of a cheetah and the bravery of a tiger?
I leaped the railing, landing gracefully on my feet as I always do, and followed the shadow through the door. The rain was coming down hard, battering my trenchcoat and cap.
Where’d that cat go?
He was clever, I’ll give him that. Lightning lit the alley, and he used the crackle of thunder to mask the sound of his feet splashing through the puddles before he leaped.
I never even saw it coming. It’s been a long time since anyone’s gotten the jump on me. Maybe I was too confident. The attacker barreled into me, knocking me off my feet, and was already propelling himself up a nearby fire escape as I landed in a puddle of rain water.
Thunderclaw was torn from my grip with the impact and went skidding across the concrete.
The Budmobile’s follow drone chose that moment to reappear, making a lazy loop around the alley before stopping to hover in front of me, its ventral nozzles firing whispers of propellant to keep it stabilized.
“Oh dear,” the drone said, “you seem to have fallen, sir. Shall I bring the car around?”
“This,” I told myself, “is undignified.”
The drone chimed.
“Is that a yes, sir?”
I resisted the urge to paw smack the useless machine.
“Yes! Call the Budmobile to the end of the alley.”
I might have been Paw City’s greatest detective, but I wasn’t going to catch criminals with my clothes and fur all wet, smelling like a dirty mutt.
I retrieved Thunderclaw from the ground, slipping the trusty revolver back into its holster.
That’s when I saw it — a scrap of torn clothing on the end of the fire escape, black as night. Black like the absence of light.
I ran a paw pad over the material, feeling its familiar weave and texture. There was only one shop in this section of Paw City that sold zero albedo clothing. Could the Shadow Void be back to stalk the seedy underbelly of Paw City once again? I put him in the slammer once. Now I may have to do it again.
I climbed back into the Budmobile, grateful for the blast of heat from its dash. It was time to pay Tommy the Tailor a visit…
Check back for the next episode of Detective Buddy: Feline Noir!
The family has pleaded for the return of four-year-old Willa, but the the woman accused of taking her has not cooperated and the Calico has now been missing for two weeks.
Despite an arrest, a criminal charge hanging over her head and widespread scorn from locals, a delivery driver has “refused to speak about” what she did with a Charleston family’s cat after allegedly stealing the Calico.
A story in Charleston’s Post and Courier details the herculean efforts by a family to get their cat back after 38-year-old Kathleen “Katy” Barnes allegedly stole the feline on Jan. 15, shortly after receiving a $15 tip for delivering Greek food on the same street.
When the Layfield family returned home that day, four-year-old Willa was nowhere to be found. The Layfields checked their security camera footage, which last showed Willa about 45 minutes before the family returned home but did not show her disappearance.
Since the extent of Willa’s outdoor activities involved straying no further than a few feet from the home, and mostly consisted of her sitting on the family’s front porch, the Layfields were worried and went to bed for an “uneasy” and “restless night,” per the Post Courier. When Willa’s AirTag pinged at 4 am near the Lindy Renaissance hotel about a mile away, Daniel Layfield got out of bed and rushed to the location. The device had been tossed in the street along with Willa’s collar.
The family has been relentless in tracking down information about Willa’s disappearance and getting access to surveillance camera footage from neighbors and local businesses, which is how they found footage of Barnes allegedly taking Willa (spotted on a neighbor’s cameras), then additional footage of her SUV stopping in front of the Lindy Renaissance hotel.
In video the Layfields pulled from a nearby gym’s surveillance cameras, Willa is seen on the dash of Barnes’ silver SUV. Barnes grabs her, removes the collar and AirTag, and tosses both out of the car before driving off again.
The Layfield family has also appealed to Barnes through statements to the press.
“Please let us know where she is,” Daniel Layfield said per the Post Courier, “if you have any compassion for animals and people.”
Charleston police deserve credit for taking the case seriously, going above and beyond what most departments would do in similar cases. They were able to secure a warrant to search Barnes’ home in Goose Creek, SC, but did not find Willa.
And this week they arrested Barnes for a second time, charging her with littering for disposing of Willa’s collar and AirTag, according to the Post-Courier.
It was the second time in about a week that police kept Barnes in overnight lockup, likely to send a message that they will not forget about the case. The Layfields have also enlisted the help of people who live in Barnes’ Goose Creek neighborhood, asking them to keep a lockout for the Calico, who has distinct markings.
This case is reminiscent of the theft of Feefee, a cat belonging to the Ishak family of Everett, Washington. Fefee was taken in the summer of 2024 by an Amazon Flex driver, and like the Layfields, the Ishaks had solid footage they were able to provide to the police, which led them to identify and track down the woman who took their cat.
That woman also refused to cooperate with police or tell the family what she did with their cat, despite their pleas and assurances that they weren’t interested in anything other than getting Feefee back.
Like the Layfield family, the Ishak family’s cat was well loved by the entire family, especially the kids, so Ray Ishak took the next several days off work and began driving around in an increasing radius, looking for the vehicle the Amazon contractor had been driving in the footage.
He found Feefee a few days later, scared and cowering in the bushes near the driver’s apartment. The driver had allegedly dumped the cat instead of returning her to the family, despite initially agreeing to bring her to the local police department.
In both cases, the families did everything right in their efforts to recover their four-legged family members.
They posted to social media, posted flyers, rallied support, and asked others to help spread the word. They reached out to local media, sent copies of the footage, then made themselves available for interviews and to plead for the return of their cats.
They also filed reports with the police and complained to the corporations — Amazon in the Washington case and Uber in the South Carolina case.
While Amazon is notoriously slow to respond to incidents like this and has repeatedly infuriated victims by treating the thefts as customer service issues, Uber said it contacted the driver and tried to persuade her to hand over the cat. While Barnes can’t technically be fired, as she’s a gig worker, the company said she will no longer be allowed to contract for Uber Eats.
“What’s been reported by the Layfields is extremely concerning,” Uber’s team wrote. “We removed the driver’s access to the Uber app and are working with law enforcement to support their investigation. We hope Willa is safe and reunited with her family.”
Unfortunately Willa’s been missing for two weeks now, and like most of the US, the normally temperate Charleston has been in a deep freeze, with temperatures plummeting below zero.
Because South Carolina views pets as property, as many states do, the worth of Willa’s life is pegged at a few hundred dollars at most, and she’s treated in the eyes of the law as an object.
That means the most severe charge the police could arrest Barnes for is petty larceny, a misdemeanor that carries a penalty of up to 30 days in county jail and a fine, if she’s convicted.
It is important to note that despite the footage, the charges are an allegation, and Barnes remains legally innocent pending a possible conviction.
But because the charge is just a misdemeanor, there is no pressure for her to cooperate and help the family get Willa back. (Or return her, if she still has the cat in her possession.)
Historically, pet theft has been associated with two primary motivations: thieves target breed cats and dogs because they believe they can make easy money selling them, whole others use stolen pets as bait or “training” for the violently conditioned dogs used in dogfighting. Some also target pedrigree pets to breed them.
In both these cases, and others that have been in the news recently, the thefts were crimes of opportunity, not pre-planned, and the cats were moggies. In addition, the cats were spayed/neutered. That rules out monetary gain by reselling or breeding. It also stretches credibility to believe gig workers are somehow more likely to be involved in dog fighting.
This is something new, a category of theft that may have began in earnest during the COVID era, when people felt isolated and shelters were literally being emptied due to the dramatic uptick in adoptions. Unable to find a companion animal through normal channels, some people stole pets for themselves.
But the shortage was short-lived, shelters and rescues are back in the familiar situation of having too many animals, and there’s no impediment to someone simply adopting a cat or dog instead of inflicting trauma on the animal and its family.
We hope the Layfields receive good news soon, and Willa is returned to the warmth and love she’s known with them.
Under South Carolina law pets are considered property, and the maximum penalty for stealing someone’s beloved animal amounts to a slap on the wrist.
Another day, another story about a delivery driver stealing a cat.
This time it happened in Charleston, South Carolina, and while local police worked quickly to identify the woman behind the wheel and arrest her, the feline is still missing.
Daniel and Liza Layfield said they knew something was wrong on Jan. 15 when an AirTag attached to their cat’s collar showed she was several blocks away. After checking their own security camera footage and video captured by other cameras on the street, they saw a local food delivery driver stop her car, scoop up four-year-old Willa, then drive off with her.
The woman tossed Willa’s collar and AirTag nearby. Thankfully, police took the matter seriously and the local community helped spread the word, leading to a quick arrest.
The family is relying on help from the community to find Willa.
But there are two problems that are common to these thefts of opportunity: Willa is still missing, and the most severe charge police could lodge against the suspect is petty larceny. That’s a misdemeanor that carries light penalties (a fine and up to 30 days in county jail) on conviction. That’s not a deterrent.
We wrote about this problem just last week, when the quick recovery of a cat stolen by an Amazon delivery driver in the UK illustrated the difference a stronger law makes.
Stealing a pet in the UK can land the thief in prison for up to five years in addition to fines. Police are more likely to devote resources when the law gives them appropriate charges to file, and five years in prison would make most people think twice about impulsively stealing a family’s well-loved pet.
By contrast, most US states treat pets as property, meaning courts do not take into account their sentimental value, bond with their people, or trauma to animal and human when someone steals a pet. South Carolina is among those states: in that state’s penal code, petty larceny is a charge that applies when someone steals property worth less than $2,000.
The suspect, a DoorDash/Uber Eats driver, has not been helpful in the Layfield family’s efforts to find their feline family member. In the meantime, the family hopes a $1,000 reward will prompt someone to come forward, or that Willa turns up at a local shelter and has her microchip scanned.
“We want to find Willa, we want to know where she is. It’s going to be 20 degrees for the next several days,” Liza Layfield told the local NBC affiliate. “The idea of her being loose and on the run is horrific.”
The Layfields’ daughter holding Willa, who has been missing since she was stolen on Jan. 15 by an Uber Eats/DoorDash driver.
Pain In The Bud 