Pants on fire

Update November 7, 2024: This scam is alive and well. The same person, with the same story, called today. I played along, and when he asked for the last four digits of my cat’s microchip number, I gave him a random string of four numbers. He pretended to be consulting his computer, and after a moment, he “matched” the number to Linus’, and I called him on the scam and said I’d given him a fake number. He hung up. I sure hope he crossed me off his call list.

Update July 31, 2024: I’m proud to have been able to contribute to the news story on KUOW about this important issue.

I had a good cry after breakfast (I know,) realizing that it had been two full weeks since Linus went missing. Snotty, messy crying. Face down on the bed. Scared the other cat crying. It was the first time I’d let myself think about the possibility that he might not make it home to us. Frederic eventually joined me on the bed, and we breathed together, he purring, and eventually the sadness abated.

Minutes later, I was splashing water on my face when my phone rang. It was a private number, but given the circumstances, I answered. The caller said they were from Seattle Animal Shelter and that they had Linus in custody, that he was hurt and being evaluated by the vet. I said I’d be right there (the shelter is 10 minutes away), but he said no, they were closed to the public but maybe they could get special permission later.

He then left to “go talk to the vet” and put me on hold. Suspicious but hopeful, I wrote down a couple of questions to ask and pulled up Seattle Animal Shelter’s website while I waited. The caller clicked back on and said that Linus was critically injured, paralyzed in all limbs due to a shoulder injury but that a time-critical surgery would almost definitely be able to resolve it. Now I was pretty sure this was fake. A dislocated shoulder?

”What’s your name?” I asked.

”William Taylor.”

“William, the number you’re calling from isn’t the number for Seattle Animal Shelter.”

“Um, I’m at the vet’s desk. If you want, I’ll call back from the front desk,” he offered.

“Yes, please do that,” I said, wondering how he was going to pull that off and hoping that he would manage to.

While waiting for him to “call back from the front desk” I continued looking on the SAS website. William hadn’t asked for money yet but I had a feeling that’s where this was going. Sure enough.

William called again from a private number. He claimed that he had called from the front desk and gotten my voice mail.

”No you didn’t,” I said.

“Yes I did. Look at your call history. Ma’am, we know from the microchip that it’s YOUR cat here, and we need to authorize a treatment plan so we can give him the best chance of survival.”

“Of course yes, authorized. May I please have the name of the treating veterinarian?”

“Uh, I’d have to uh, look at the paper work, and uh, it looks like it’s “Dr. Curtis?”

“I’d like to speak to them.”

“They’re very busy here. Look, we just need to go over the billing and we can get started.”

“Billing?”

’Yes, B I L L I N G. The vet has to get paid.” By this point, I was more angry than sad. I told him that I’d found information on the SAS website that indicates they never ask for payment upfront, and I read the quote from the website back to him.

Finally, I had the satisfaction (and presence of mind) to add the following.

”On the very off chance that you are in custody of my animal, I hope you show some compassion but I think we both know this is a scam and what you're doing is cruel."

He hung up without another word. There is a special place in hell for you, William Taylor.

Silver lining

I shared this experience with my Facebook pet finders group as a cautionary tale and one of the members’ daughter created a replica of my missing cat poster.