Cardboard, The Missing Campus Cat
- 1 day ago
- 3 min read
By Kaelin Viera
On the last day of the fall semester, freshman Dez Robinson was finishing their move to the Commons with their most prized cargo: their cats, Cardboard and Toothless, when the shaking of the carrier made the former panic. Cardboard squeezed his head through a small opening left by the zipper and escaped, biting Robinson twice.
“He was very affectionate and sweet,” says Robinson. “That was the first time he’s ever acted like that.”

Cardboard is still gone, leaving his owner in distress. Robinson, a double major in psychology and sociology, comes from the foster care system. Their only home is Purchase, and their only family is their emotional support animals, who have helped treat their depression and anxiety for the past three years.
“It is very comforting for my mental health to be responsible for another living thing,” says Robinson. “They did help me cope a lot after my father’s passing.”
When Cardboard went missing Dec. 13, Robinson began searching for five hours a day and spreading the word via social media. Come the spring semester, students were eager to step in.
“There was a lot of help and support, which I really appreciated,” says Robinson. “I’ve even made some friends through it recently.”
One such friend is Adrian Taillepierre, a cinema studies freshman who has searched both in a group and alone for Cardboard.
“I have free time, so I might as well use it for something beneficial,” says Taillepierre.
Students bought cat food to lure in Cardboard, and Robinson tracked Cardboard’s Air Tag, to no avail. They were guided by alleged sightings, which led them to raccoons and other small animals, not the brown tabby cat.
“It was very difficult because I’d get my hopes high, and then I’d check, and there’d be nothing,” said Robinson.
Despite the willing participants and constant stream of advice, the worsening winter weather hindered the search.

“Everybody started dropping like flies because it was right before the snowstorm,” says Taillepierre.
In the January snowstorm that moved classes online earlier this semester, Westchester County received about 17 inches of snow, according to Lohud, with temperatures below freezing for a week straight, according to AccuWeather. Before the snow, every small object or critter looked like a cat to those looking. After that, there were no confirmed sightings.
Residential and Student Life agreed to let Robinson set out humane traps, which is not a first for Purchase campus. Others have gone to more extreme lengths in the case of a missing pet.
Dr. Kerry Manzo, an assistant professor of global studies who lives in the Commons, lost his cat for a month last year in what he calls “Gretchen’s Grand Adventure.”
“I need to feel like I’ve done what’s possible,” says Manzo, who spent about $250 hiring a professional lost pet finder to successfully bring his feline home.
But for Robinson, a college student who is still caring for Toothless, that is not an option.
“It’s so expensive to have an emotional support animal on campus,” says Jay Barbeau, whose cat has been with him at Purchase for the past three years. “To pay for his litter and his food and vet bills, it adds up.”
While Barbeau’s cat, Salad, has never escaped, he says his freshman year suitemate’s campus cat was lost and eventually found in a car engine in Connecticut.
“That really put the fear of God in me,” says Barbeau, a junior studying theatre and performance and playwriting and screenwriting. “I was like, no one’s allowed to let Salad out of the house ever.”
Even if owners think they know their pets, animals are unpredictable.
“[Cardboard] always seemed more skittish about the outdoors than Toothless has,” says Robinson, who explained that Toothless, too, once escaped when they were living at home. “It surprised me that it was him, not her.”
It’s not just Robinson who misses their cat. Toothless and Cardboard came from the same litter, and the pair were deeply bonded.
“She seemed very confused at the beginning,” says Robinson of Cardboard’s sudden disappearance. “They would always be cuddling whenever they’d sleep. He’d usually curl around her because I think she was the runt of her litter.”

Students still ask for updates on Cardboard on apps like Yik Yak, but Robinson says their therapist has advised them to slow down the search.
“It was just a deep challenge trying to balance social life, classes and all that,” says Robinson. “If there is anyone still searching, my reward still stands.”




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