Sultan the Museum Cat's Story, and Day Two...

Sultan can appear unassuming at first.  Indeed, some people at first ask if he is a "feral cat", as they see him outside so often.


He has "worked" at the Pasadena Museum of History as its Official Mascot (after all, it says that on his collar, which he wears proudly); Official Greeter, Security Guard, Mouser, Muse, and All Around Nice Guy.  And he's done that for more than TEN YEARS, crossing a busy city street each day and somehow avoiding coyotes at night before going home.


To me, his story was almost legend --- the first owner who rescued and adopted him while at a movie location shoot; his obsession with the History Museum and its parking lot; located across from her condo complex; that original owner's leaving him behind with Museum staff when she moved away a year or two later; and his subsequent caretakers who fortunately lived in that same complex allowing him to continue his Museum role for year after year.


Then there were the infamous Sultan acts --- how he would see (and smell) food arriving for a Museum event, and drop off a dead mouse or rat as his contribution to Pasadena's elite; the time his curiosity got the better of him and he was left in the Museum, setting off its alarms leading to the arrival of the authorities (he still hates sirens...); and many more.


But HOW had this cat survived such a daily schedule involving a dangerous route, dodging cars constantly in the parking lot, and avoiding dogs and coyotes in an area by the Arroyo Seco that is known for both?




DAY TWO...


I got very little sleep thinking about the little guy after hearing he was back at his caretaker's, knowing he would probably try to escape. 


Sure enough, the next morning I got word that he already had escaped.  I spent a good part of a very hot afternoon looking for Sultan around his keeper's condo complex and the Museum.  Thinking he might venture further, I expanded the search into the nearby neighborhoods.  It was possible someone had seen his injury and turned him in to Pasadena Humane, so I even asked there, and at a nearby office building where he sometimes visited the security guards.


Three things worried me:  his injured foot, the disability it would cause him in defending himself, and the possible smell of blood on it.  I wanted to find him before he tried to spend another night out doors, as he had been doing the past few weeks.


When he staggered out of the woods later that afternoon, seeming weak and confused, I was elated my buddy as all right.