I’ve been weary. Oh so weary. Isn’t that a song? I can’t be sure because of my weariness. Brush my hair? Do I have to? Feed the animals? Can’t they miss a meal? Plain and simple, I’m about at my limit rustling up spare energy. In other words, I’m dog tired.
Right about now you might be thinking, quit feeling sorry for yourself, Janet. I’m busy also but you don’t see ME whining. Okay, so maybe you’re a whirlwind like my friend Sharon who never tires. Well good for you. And her. But not everything is about you and Sharon. So get over yourself already. This is MY blog and I’m trying to tell you how tired I am. Jeeeeez…
I’m so sorry. I have to apologize for being rude back there. I’m not myself when I’m weary. Now don’t get me wrong; it’s not like my crankiness means I’d have you killed just for a differing opinion. Not that I couldn’t. Have you killed, that is. After all, this is America and we have the First Amendment. We also have folks willing to bump you off for putting it into action.
Anyway, I’m not THAT cranky. But I did yell at Wally the other day for pooping in the house (again). I not only scared him, I scared myself by my reaction. That’s not like me. I know Wally is struggling with house-training and I need to be patient. (Sadly lacking when I’m tired.)
Here’s my story of a recent day’s activities with my feral cat rescue…up at 6:15 a.m., out the door at 7:00, reaching the humane society at 7:15. Load up 5 feral cats for transport into San Francisco for spay/neuter. Here’s a little secret about that – it’s nearly impossible to load ferals when they have no intention of politely entering the transfer cages I’ve so thoughtfully provided for them.
After 30 minutes, I’m on the road. Naturally, traffic is horrendous. So 75 minutes later, I arrive at the 9:00 a.m. drop-off. Then it’s 45 minutes back to Marin to get traps for a resident in Richmond, a 20 minute ride over another bridge.
Within an hour I trap 4 ferals that I’ll relocate to new outdoor homes within the week. I head back to the humane society to deposit the cats, grab a quick sandwich at Michael’s Sourdough, then continue north to feed more ferals for someone on vacation.
Then it’s off to Costco where I buy a dozen 25 lb. bags of cat food and 9 cases of Friskies, load them into my SUV, then deliver them around Marin to numerous feral cat feeders. Afterward, I answer my phone, email and text messages.
By this time it’s nearing 4:15 p.m. Time to head back into the city to retrieve the cats after their surgery. I arrive by 5:00, lucky that traffic was light. Heading back to Marin, my luck runs out. Stuck in commute traffic, I don’t reach the humane society until 6:30, when I transfer the cats into their holding cages.
At 7:30 I walk into the house, put down my purse and yell out, I CAN’T KEEP DOING THIS! I NEED SOME HELP! My 8 pets look at me like I’m insane; they could be right. I take the dogs for a walk then feed everyone before playing with my foster kitten, George.
By 8:45 I’m ready for dinner – Vietnamese leftovers. Lastly, I vegetate in front of the TV, followed by reading in bed. On a good night I’m asleep between midnight and 1:00 a.m.
And that, my friends, is why I’m weary. Oh so weary.