Let’s just say my dream isn’t the usual, like winning an obscene amount of lottery money or being awarded a Nobel Peace Prize. And, sadly, it doesn’t compare to Martin Luther King’s noble human rights dream. No, mine is much less life-altering and electrifying.
This is it: I hope one day to get arrested. In fact, it’s #12 on my bucket list, right after Visit Australia and just before Bike Tour in Maine (neither of which I’ve accomplished yet).
Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not actually trying to land in Marin County jail for just any crime. I’m not planning to rob a bank, as I don’t own a gun. Besides, it’s not in my nature to hurt anyone, so murder is out. I won’t even burgle a home to steal its contents and here’s why:
The last thing I stole was a piece of bubble gum from Littleman’s market when I was 7. My dad made me go back to the store, pay for the gum (well, he actually paid for it) and apologize to the manager right there in the lobby so everyone could hear and stare at the little knock-kneed thief. That ended my life as a criminal…never took another thing that wasn’t mine. But I digress…
No, my particular dream, and an honorable one in its own right, is to be arrested protecting animals. Can you think of a better reason? I can’t. Being in cat rescue, I’ve come upon some tricky situations in over 12 years of helping feral cats have a better life by getting them spayed and neutered and offering them the essentials: food, water and shelter. Is that too much to ask? I think not. But some people don’t want me doing that and therein lies the trouble.
Normally I’m an easy-going gal except when someone is hurting or threatening an animal. Something triggers in me and I forget I’m just 5’3″ and have yet to learn Karate or that cool move Spock did by squeezing the base of someone’s neck to incapacitate them.
Instead, caring people have given me things to protect me from the crazies. Things like a taser, which no doubt I’d accidentally use on myself; a canister of mace, so ditto to the previous sentence; a whistle, which I promptly lost; and a pocket knife I continually leave in my car when I’m trapping at night. Besides, I only use it to open bags of cat kibble, so there you go. But they were all nice gestures, don’t you think?
Anyway, last week my dream appeared about to become reality when we attempted to reach 9 feral cats being fed daily for over 8 years by Loretta and Chip, the colony caretakers. Construction began recently next to the cats’ outdoor home and the head contractor, whom I refer to as HJ for Head Jackass, continually blocked our access to the cats. When they went without food or water for days, we said that’s it; this is simply wrong.
Therefore, it looks like tomorrow we may get to use those bolt cutters, potentially allowing me to check off #12 on my bucket list. Bring it on, HJ. I’ll proudly be incarcerated for breaking and entering to protect innocent animals from major jackasses.
Hum…I wonder if Marin County jail offers vegetarian meals? I should look into that.