No Time For Boredom

According to the Census Bureau, I live alone. I, however, beg to differ. Yeah, I’m currently the only 2-legged being in my household but by no means do I live alone. Not if you count 4 dogs, 4 cats and an array of foster kittens. But furry things don’t count with census takers.

Census taker

As you know, I frequently blog about my animals. After all, they give me lots to write about. One of the 8 often does something either ridiculously adorable or exceedingly frustrating…it’s a continual cycle of entertainment.

Consequently, I am never bored. Who has time for that? I’d need to pencil it into my schedule: Sunday, August 6, noon-1:00: BE BORED. I must admit it might be nice to have that luxury. When I’m not out wrangling kitties or on the tennis court, I’m at home attempting to work through my never ending honey-do list. And I’m the honey that do.

Honey do list

Now don’t get me wrong. I hire help whenever I can’t figure something out, which is rather frequently. And my neighbor Paul, Mr. Handyman, is always lending a hand or a tool. And lucky for me he has every tool ever invented. Continue reading

My Furry Problem Children

I’m thrilled to report that we’re making progress. And by WE I mean my two problem children, Skip and Wally. In case you haven’t met them, I’ll introduce you…

I adopted Skip 5 years ago after we crossed paths at Marin Humane. Late one night I was bringing in feral cats I’d just trapped for sterilization at the same moment a volunteer carried in Skip from a rescue run in middle California. It was love at first sight — I knew in that instant I had to make him part of my furry family.

skip first photo

Skip’s first photo

Wally is my latest addition, added last August to round out my other 7 adopted rescues (3 mutts and 4 felines). What can I say? Again, love at first sight. While at Berkeley Humane picking up a food donation for Marin Friends of Ferals, I saw a volunteer walking Wally.

Walking is too benign a description for Wally’s gait. More like he skips with determination and utter joy. One couldn’t help but notice him leading the volunteer, his little body pulling the poor guy down the sidewalk. Give that volunteer a skateboard and he’d have had the ride of his life.

wally-drooling

Wally’s first photo on the car ride home — moments before throwing up

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One Precious Second

I almost died Wednesday night.

To put it more succinctly, someone almost killed me. I’d call it murder but I suppose in a court of law it would constitute manslaughter. None-the-less, I might be dead if it weren’t for a red Fiat and one precious second.

please tell me more

I was checking emails at 7:30 p.m. when I received notice saying some bozo had stolen one of our feral cat feeding stations and food bowls. The cats also needed more food. So I grabbed the pertinent items and headed out for the 10 minute drive up the freeway…until I realized I’d forgotten the feeding station. Typical me. So I headed back to my garage where the station was sitting in plain sight. Impossible for me to miss although somehow I’d managed.

forgotten something

Once I entered the freeway, a red 2-seater Fiat convertible flew past me. The top was down and 3 young gals were squeezed in, one obviously without a seat belt. Or a seat. Surprisingly, a police cruiser drove right by them. Must have been quittin’ time because 3 long-haired blonds speeding in a convertible are kinda hard to miss.

fiat

Insert 3 crazy gals

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Livin’ the Dream

I’ve never wished to be a feral cat. Up until last week.

That’s because I’m relocating 9 cats to a property in Tiburon which is, in a word, unbelievable. This place is a replica of an Italian Villa perfectly situated on gorgeous land facing San Francisco Bay. The view is absolutely stunning…not that the cats will notice.

Tiburon mansion 2

These 9 felines are not socialized to people so they aren’t adoptable. Instead of being euthanized, they’re placed as mousers on properties, but fed daily, just like domestic cats. Except instead of keeping laps warm they keep gardens rodent-free.

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A Leap of Faith

This post was written a few years back, so long ago you know you don’t remember it, do you? That’s okay. My memory sucks too. So this will be just like new to  you (and me!).

While my three friends and I huddled on the cold steel floor of the single engine Cessna, I struggled to remember what possessed me to want to hurl myself from an airborne metal tube.

Now don’t get me wrong; I’m not crazy. At least I think I’m not. But still, I seriously questioned my sanity while checking my parachute pack for the tenth time. My curiosity was not based on its technical construction but simply to confirm that it was still on my back. Continue reading