Originally posted in 2013
As an animal advocate, I prefer to avoid consuming them. Instead, I’m perfectly happy watching cows and sheep graze the rolling hills of Marin. I pretend they’re able to do that until a ripe old age, whereupon they die in a pasture, fat and happy.
The truth is, there’s not much I can do for these particular animals except refuse to dine on them. Still, I find it frustrating to know I’m helpless to change their fate. Continue reading
Trapping feral cats for sterilization means encountering something different each day. It’s the fun aspect of this work. Now don’t get me wrong; that doesn’t mean it’s one big party. On the contrary. The list of unpleasantness is long, but I’ll refrain from boring you with most of that.
Needless to say, working with Marin Friends of Ferals has its moments…I’ve broken my finger, been bitten through my knuckle by a kitten barely bigger than my hand, been saturated with poison oak and nearly lost the tip of my pinky from another bite. Scrapes and bruises come with the territory from efforts to spay and neuter feral community cats, yet I love what I do. But as it turns out, love hurts.
One joy of the job includes meeting new people and traveling to places in Marin County (and beyond) where I don’t often venture. For instance, last week a family in Sebastopol contacted us wanting 4 ferals for rodent control on their 5-acre spread. Continue reading
I trust you all had a nice Thanksgiving. Probably watched the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade, visited with family and ate a lot. Then ate some more. The operative word at Thanksgiving is stuffed — ate too many stuffed deviled eggs, enjoyed your aunt’s cornbread stuffing, stuffed yourself with turkey. You get the drift…
As for me, I had a splendid Thanksgiving. Thanks for asking. And I did none of the above. No parade, no eggs, no stuffing or turkey. Parades aren’t my thing. No offense but I don’t have the patience to sit and watch zillions of floats, gargantuan balloons and endless marching bands for 3 hours. I️ love stuffed eggs but didn’t bother making them this year. I️ don’t eat turkey so why have stuffing?
No, I made a selfish decision this year. I’ve been crazy busy the last few months so my Thanksgiving wish was to have a day where I didn’t have to go anywhere; that sounded heavenly. My brother and stepmom were spending Thanksgiving with close friends and although invited, I politely declined. I’m a heel, aren’t I?
My brother and 90-year-old stepmom
I’m a terrible animal guardian and I’m going straight to hell. I’ll tell you why…
My animals have their routine down-pat before calling it a night. I say, “Okay, time to go night-night.” The word ‘okay’ prompts all 4 mutts to jump from their coveted positions. I open the patio door and they file outside to do their business one last time. Fortunately it stopped raining last night so I didn’t have to coax anyone out. And by anyone I mean Wally. As you now know, he’s my problem child.
I block the French doors with my foot so my cats don’t make a beeline outside. Nellie heads for the top of the property looking for fresh poop to eat. No doubt she was out of luck last night since it rained for days, so my guess is her nightly snack was inedible mush. I apologize for the gross description, but remember, I have it worse. I’m the one forced to watch Nellie attempt to dislodge the poop stuck on her back molars. It’s hideous.
My poop eater
My cat Tippi is in love with me. And I’m not talking puppy love either. This is full-fledged kitty passion. I’ve never experienced anything like it. Now don’t get me wrong; it’s not like she’s always been enamored with me. Quite the contrary. No, this love affair has taken years to blossom, which makes her recent adoration all the more perplexing.
If you know torties (tortoiseshell cats), you know they have what’s referred to as tortitude. And trust me here, that’s not an exaggeration. They’re often temperamental and unpredictable, facts I never knew back when I was mostly a dog person. Didn’t know much about felines at all, only that my cats were all different. Surprise, surprise; cats have personalities. Go figure.
I found my first feline, a calico kitten, on a ranch I jogged by one morning. She was barely alive so I scooped her up, took her to a vet, and was told she had pneumonia and probably wouldn’t make it. But Rudie was a survivor.