I believe I have an overactive compassion gene. Now don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying that’s a particularly bad trait, depending on how you look at it. For one thing, it means I’m not a psychopath since they tend not to have an ounce of compassion, let alone a conscience. So yay for me!
The reason I even brought this up is because I’m in animal rescue, specifically cats. Not that I don’t rescue other creatures. I’m what you would call an equal opportunity savior. Wait. That sounds pompous. Let me rephrase that. How about equal opportunity rescuer? Yeah, that’s better.
Now you’re going to think I’m a bit looney. And you wouldn’t be far off, especially when I tell you what I did the other day…So I’m having lunch at home when I reach for my glass of water and notice a fly inside, swimming frantically in circles. I’m not entirely certain flies swim but whatever it was doing, it looked frantic.
This blog was originally posted in January, 2019 and is dedicated in memory of Bridget, our last feral cat at Indian Valley College who passed away recently. We will miss her.
To seamlessly segue from last week to this, Loretta and I ultimately accomplished our goal of giving cat beds to Slinky, who lives under a bridge at a local college and also to Bridget, who lives under another bridge on campus. Granted, that doesn’t sound exciting. But when you realize these two have spent 13 years living in dirt under their respective bridges, offering them their first beds was a big deal. (To us at least!)
Now don’t get me wrong; even though college administrators wish the cats, and we who feed them, would disappear, what they fail to recognize is the gumption of our feral rescue volunteers. These are no wussies. We hold our own when faced with unreasonable requests, like allowing elderly ferals to starve.
When Loretta and I decided it was way overdue that we provide our two ferals a bed, did we fear arrest? Nah. Call us crazy…those cats were getting a bed come hell or high water. And let me tell you, the water was high. (The creek under the bridges was rushing like a river after a recent storm.) So anyway, we waited for the cloak of darkness before pulling off the cat bed caper. Continue reading →
What I’m about to tell you is just between us. Loose lips not only sink ships, they can also land me in the slammer. The problemwith that? I doubt jail caters to vegetarians and I’m guessing their sleeping arrangements aren’t as comfy as my king size Sleep Number bed with pillow-top padding.
Since you’re finished reading about our dog rescue on Mare Island, I figure this is a good time to tell you about another canine rescue I was part of. Some might call it a dognapping and they wouldn’t be incorrect. But I prefer to label it as a life or death rescue intervention.
Here’s what happened: One of my feral cat caretakers (who we’ll refer to as Shannon) was told by her daughter (let’s call her Kelly) about a dog she discovered living out of state locked in a cage in a basement with no food or water. Pretty cruel, huh? The dog was horribly malnourished and basically ignored by her so-called guardian, a drug addict who we’ll call The Neglector.
As promised, this is the last Holy Crap posting. Here’s how it ended:
Gracie proved to be nearly impossible to trap. Worried she’d inevitably be hit by a car (like Brownie), we brainstormed for a solution when I remembered seeing a discarded portable basketball system on the side of a secluded dirt road.
We rolled it down to where Gracie eats, cut up licorice plants, then placed a 4’ round net under the hoop. After tying ropes to the edges of the net and connecting them with a carabiner, we looped another cord through that and over the hoop. We covered the net in plantings, then practiced “trapping” a large rock. It worked beautifully, so we put food in the middle. Continue reading →