The kitty I write about has, of course, passed away since my story dates in the 1980s. His name was Fetcher, and he had a very distinct personality.
Like all cats, he was king of the household, and unfortunately he tried to be king of the neighborhood. Next door lived a Siamese and a Manx (the cat with no tail). Our Fetcher tried, successfully, to bully them by eating their food (kept in their garage) and daring the two cats to attempt to eat any at all.
Their human soon noticed this behavior, and I began finding hefty items lying in my nearby yard, items like a bicycle pedal and an unusual looking rock. At first I was perplexed, but eventually I saw Fetcher in action and realized what must be happening. He was being used for target practice to deter his bullying ways.
I spoke to my neighbor about it, but she denied throwing anything at Fetcher while vehemently telling me to keep him out of her yard, sort of hard to do since he was an outdoor/indoor cat. She had a son and daughter so they could have been the missile throwers.
I tried to persuade Fetcher to discontinue his bullying ways, kept an eye on him more than usual, but time and projectiles continued. And then Fetcher disappeared.
I begged my neighbor to tell me if she had seen Fetcher, but of course she hadn't. On the chance she was telling the truth, I walked and walked the streets of our neighborhood, knocking on doors, stating my plight. Fetcher never came home, and I never saw him again.
I realize he did a bad thing by bullying her cats, but certainly not bad enough for what I think happened to him. She could easily have kept her cats' food inside as I did Fetcher's, but she was not that type of person. So I lost a loved pet, but now I have given him immortality in my published story about The Cat That Wouldn't Hunt. I still miss you, Fetcher, wherever you are.
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