Things you only know when your pet goes missing while a cat killer is at large

The news that a cat killer may be on the loose in Brighton has highlighted the bittersweet nature of pet ownership. They can bring you so much joy – but when things go wrong, you suffer genuine pain.

The thought that there may be someone stalking the streets of the East Sussex city, looking to deliberately harm a pet, is horrible – and it has brought back the heartache my family felt when our cat went missing while the hunt was on for the Croydon cat killer, the shadowy figure who police and animal activists believed was behind a spate of gruesome cat deaths around the south London area. 

We have two cats – Billy and his brother Alfie. They’re different in both looks and personality. Billy is a pretty little tabby while Alfie is a black and white bruiser. Billy is timid, home loving and looks permanently on edge. Alfie is an adventurous but friendly alley cat, who pops in every now and then for food as it suits him.

Unusually for Billy, he had gone out one night and didn’t return. By day three, we were very worried. He disappeared only a few weeks after police called off the hunt for the Croydon Cat Killer. After a high-profile, three-year investigation, the police had decided the killer was in fact a fox or foxes who were mutilating the bodies of cats that had been run over.

We don’t live too far from Croydon and, in my darker moments, I wondered if the police had got it wrong and the killer was a human after all. Maybe s/he had been emboldened by the police’s decision to close the case and had moved further west.

So we put up the dreaded “missing cat” posters that my children (now aged 14 and 12) and I often used to spot on the walk to school.

I knocked on a few doors. “The children are very worried,” I told everyone sheepishly – but it was actually me who seemed the most concerned, despite the fact my love for Billy is very much unrequited.

When I told people about Billy, most people knew of a cat who had disappeared for days – 14 was the record.

Six days after going missing, Billy limped home, with his tail – literally – between his legs. In fact, it was dragging on the floor. There was a nasty gash on the tip and his bone was visible.

An X-ray showed that it was broken in two places – the first break was right at the base and, if it wasn’t amputated, it would permanently drag on the ground, risking infection. The vet thought he may have been hit by a car, or that someone – or something – had got hold of his tail and yanked it hard.

Then the agonising decision. Vet Google told me that cats without tails might have trouble with their balance and jumping. I worried that Billy might feel some loss of status or be unable to communicate with other cats.

The vet reassured us he would be fine, so we gave the go-ahead for the procedure. After an anxious half-hour wait, we got the call that the operation had been a success and that we could visit him that night.

Not knowing what to take a cat when you visit him at the vets, my son and I went empty handed. He looked resentful, whether due to a lack of gifts or the plastic cone of shame around his head to stop him licking his stitches, I don’t know.

We nervously picked him up the following day – and I took a few deep breaths before looking at the bill: £600.

Having shared my story of Billy with other pet owners, we came off quite lightly. Someone told me of a dog who needed £5,500-worth of surgery and when his owners checked their insurance policy, it turned out that it would only pay out £1,000.

Back home, Billy gobbled up his food and gamely tried to remove the cone of shame. Alfie seemed intrigued but otherwise unmoved by the drama.

Billy’s little stubby tail is now only about three cm long, but a few weeks after the op, he’s had his stitches removed and he’s thriving.

His tail does look strange, but he’s become a bit of a minor celebrity locally, and visitors are keen to see how he’s getting on. He views them with the disdain he reserves for me.

He’s still timid and spends even more time curled up on our daughter’s bed than before, but he can jump, run and, crucially, climb onto the shed roof to keep an eye out for any predators – particularly anyone who looks like they might be able to give a tail a yank.