So I recently relocated 4 young ferals as mousers to a property that on the surface seemed perfect. Still, I entertained little nagging doubts about the owner of the 700 acre ranch, winery and B&B. Yes, he said all the right things but was it because he thought it’s what I wanted to hear? I wondered, but ignored my hunch because the place seemed perfect for feral mousers. And it was. But HE surely wasn’t.
We acclimate cats for 3 weeks in cages before releasing them. But when Mr. Jackass admitted he let the cats out after 10 days, he confirmed my reservations. Still, he assured me they were fine, eating a lot, everything’s hunky-dory…blah, blah, blah. So yeah, I wanted to believe him.
A couple weeks later I returned to collect our relocation supplies. That’s when I saw the magnitude of ignoring my hunch. Basically, the cats were starving. Turns out he barely fed them in the erroneous belief they’d be better hunters (the opposite of what I instructed). However, nobody can tell this guy anything so I immediately formulated a plan to recover the cats, knowing he’d resist.
If you had your hand on my chest right now, yes it’d be inappropriate, but the point is, you’d feel my heart beating like I’d just seen a ghost. I’d love that, actually. Seeing a ghost, that is. But the reason my heart is on overdrive is because my 4 mutts were just attacked by another dog.
I almost talked myself out of taking Callie, Skip, Wally and Taffy for a stroll because, well, it’s called pure laziness. My days have been so packed lately that when I drag my weary bones home, the thought of moving from my cozy chair is not an inviting one.
Callie and Wally
Still, guilt won me over. How can I relax when 8 eyeballs are glued to my every move? I felt their stares even as I pretended to be asleep. But my unsympathetic mutts were having none of it. So I begrudgingly took them for a walk. Continue reading →
I promise this will be my last Wally blog entry for a while. Now don’t get me wrong; I didn’t return him to the humane society. I’m not that cold-hearted. Frankly I’m surprised the idea even crossed your mind because it’s never crossed mine. But let me tell ya, I’m beginning to think Wally’s previous owner neglected to divulge some of the Wallster’s less desirable behaviors.
Caught in the act
As you read last Sunday, Wally is challenged in a few areas: peeing and pooping in the house, not coming when called, chewing anything he can fit into his mouth, barking at strangers, car sickness, fear of rain, stealing food from my plate…
Wally’s previous owner returned him saying his car sickness was a deal breaker since he planned to take Wally to work with him. To that I say phooey! And I never say phooey. My guess is he couldn’t handle the truth — Wally isn’t easy. These days I keep reminding myself nothing worthwhile ever is. Continue reading →
I’m writing this on Friday afternoon sitting in my SUV in front of a home I’ve come to know much too well the last 41 days. In fact, I think I’ve been here more than my own home lately. Now don’t get me wrong; that’s a lie. But it feels true.
I’ve been on the hunt for a mom and her kittens with Constanza, our San Rafael volunteer coordinator for Marin Friends of Ferals. I’ve been doing TNR (trap-neuter-return) for 15 years and I’ve never encountered a smarter cat, feral or domestic. And THAT’S no lie.