I have many adventures in feral cat rescue and meeting interesting people is part of the adventure. Now don’t get me wrong; interesting isn’t always so great. Take, for instance, two bozos I’ve had the displeasure of dealing with who work at a local college.
Slinky, an elderly feral our nonprofit has been feeding for 10 years, lives under a bridge at the college. But the head honchos (the bozos) have always prohibited us from offering him shelter. Why, you ask? Because they have their heads up their butts. I’m talkin’ way, way up there.
Five years ago, under a rural grocery store, I trapped a kitten I named Tippi. That day, I helped her escape living a feral life. At midnight on New Year’s Day, I brought Tippi to pet emergency where I was with her when, 13 hours later, she left this life.
This outcome is hard for me to comprehend because Tippi didn’t appear to be ill and just weeks ago had her yearly well-check. She was prone to upper respiratory infections but that was nothing new, having come from a sickly colony. So her passing was unexpected.
Her favorite nappng place
Not even a week ago Tippi attempted, for the 100th time, to climb the tree in the family room. As usual, I yelled at her to get down and as usual, she obliged. That same day, she sunned herself on the bench in my backyard. A couple days later she was a different cat; not eating, throwing up, barely able to walk, hiding…
Wishing she had something to knock off the counter
Our trip to the vet revealed Tippi in kidney failure. They ran every test imaginable but were dumbfounded as to the cause. The ultra sound was fine but her creatinine levels were off the charts. You might be asking yourself how Tippi’s death fits into a humor blog. You’re right, it doesn’t. So to remedy that, let me tell you how Tippi lived. Continue reading →
I have an announcement to make: We have all been lied to, duped and deceived. Yes, dear friends, you heard it here first. I hate to be the one to burst your bubble but you know how they always say bad things come in sets of threes? Well, they were wrong. Very wrong.
That’s because I just had a very unlucky month. And it didn’t end after the third hit, when I relaxed a little believing my streak was over. Far from it. The hits just kept on coming. But such is life.
Let me complain, I mean explain…it started with little stuff not really worth mentioning. But you know I will anyway. Continue reading →
Remember way back before apps like Waze came along to get us where we’re going? Sadly, I do. Here’s a post from March, 2015 that makes me happy I no longer rely on Stella, my old GPS..I have absolutely no sense of direction. Consequently I’m always lost. That’s unless I’m armed with a device that talks to me and leads the way. In fact, I’m not even sure how I got anywhere until good old GPS came along. Now don’t get me wrong; I’m being serious.
Back in the day, before MapQuest and various technological inventions navigated for us, we relied on paper maps and verbal directions. It was hell. But getting around now is much simpler. Having a sucky sense of direction should no longer be a handicap, right? One would think. But my GPS (Stella) just happens to be directionally challenged.
Sometimes I’ll test Stella even when I know where I’m going. I’ll enter the address, hit the gas and see what transpires. Invariably, she takes the longest route. Sometimes I think she’s high or maybe in the throes of dementia. Simply put, much of the time Stella has absolutely no idea where she’s going. So that makes two of us. Continue reading →
So you know how I relocate un-adoptable feral cats to properties for rodent control? Well, last week’s relocation was slightly different. The property owner was referred to me by one of our volunteers so I thought, okay, great.
It’s rare that I know the people I’m bringing cats to. How it works is: they contact us, I get their address then go see if their property is a good fit for ferals. I never give it a second thought. And on second thought, maybe that’s not so smart.When I pulled into the driveway of Steve’s 7 acre spread, I noticed two houses. The one in back, where Steve lives, has an old barn attached that once housed ranch hands nearly 100 years ago. It sits at the end of a long dirt driveway. And as I drove in, I noticed a figure pacing back and forth through the lone upstairs window. Sorta eerie. I have to tell you, the whole scene reminded me of Norman Bates in Psycho. But maybe I’ve watched too many thrillers.