The Mystery of the 8th Floor Cat and Racoons in Central Park!

I'm wondering if any of you might have an idea of what happened here:

On Thursday night (last Thursday night) we came home to an unusual sight in our building's lobby. A small crowd of people (mostly young people) were crowded around the doorman's station. Behind him was the large metal cage they usually hold our packages in. Only this time, on the top shelf, was a frightened cat.

"Is this your cat?" the doorman, who knows what I do, says. I replied I did not as I took a closer look at the frightened creature. They did give her food, water, and a makeshift litterbox.

"We've been knocking on doors all night," he said. "Someone found her on the 8th floor, so we knocked on all the doors of the 8th floor. Then we went up to seven and down to nine and did the same thing. No one has claimed her."

(Now we're at the point in the story where I have to tell you we live in a 40-story building, however, it is difficult for anyone less than five feet tall to push the elevator button nor open the heavy doors of the stairwell without opposable thumbs.) Logic, then, dictated someone on the 8th floor must own her.

For several days, the poor creature went unclaimed--signs were posted, etc. A good Samaritan in the building took her in temporarily, but he already had a house full of animals and kids and indicated money was tight, although he would consider keeping her because she's a senior cat and a trip to the pound would have probably resulted in certain death. He'd keep her til Monday, he said. I gave him my apartment number and asked him to please contact me before he brought the animal to the pound or, if money was tight, perhaps I can get a neighborhood vet to check her out. (He was concerned she may give something to his other cats.)

Finally, Monday night--I asked the doorman on duty what's doing with the cat. "Oh, someone finally came forward and claimed her," he said. "Great!" I said. "What was the story--was someone on vacation and a cat sitter inadvertendly let her out the door or something?" (That was my thought from the get-go.)

"No, it is the strangest thing," the doorman said in his heavy Irish brogue. "The old woman who lives in the apartment finally came home, saw the sign, and said it was her cat. We asked her to describe the cat and the description matched. But it's the strangest thing--we had knocked on her apartment door several times and her daughter was home, and she insisted the cat wasn't hers. I even said to her, are you sure this isn't your mother's cat? And she insisted it wasn't."

Now, I have a few theories:
1.) The woman has so many cats in the apartment the daughter figured the ballpark number looked right and assumed they were all accounted for.
2.) The daughter is a bit, ah, "slow."
3.) The daughter knew darn well it was her mom's cat, but, seizing the opportunity of her mother being away for a few days, let the cat get out and hoped it wouldn't come back.

The skeptic in me is thinking number three. Which makes me afraid for the cat if the daughter lives with the mom full-time. What do you think?

And, a total nonsequitor--in an attempt to escape the constant rat-tat-tat-tat and buzzzzzzzzz of the construction across the street--which looks like it will never, ever end--I took a walk in Central Park around 8pm (yes, the construction was STILL going on!) and look up--and behold, a rather large raccoon in the tree! So, we do have our own share of wildlife here.