I’m on the comeback trail from Covid so expect a new posting next week. In the meantime, here’s one from 2020….
A couple Sunday’s ago you met my latest addition to my furry family. At that writing, this cross-eyed feline was called Trinity, the name Marin Humane gave her because she came from northern California. Since that day, her name has changed no less than 4 times. Hey, it’s not so easy naming someone you’re still getting to know.
For instance, when I decided to keep this semi-feral, I made a list of possible names with help from my friend Loretta. After all, she was spot-on naming Dash…entirely apropos for that madman. So for a couple days Trinity was Willow. But as I got to know her better, she wasn’t exactly graceful or willowy. This girl has a touch of crazy.
Then I called Trinity Sadie, although she didn’t look like a Sadie (whatever that looks like). That name soon became Chloe. But no matter how often I said it, it made absolutely no impression on her. In fact, I believe she ignored me even more than usual. Besides, Chloe is one of the top 10 names for female cats and she doesn’t strike me as a particularly trendy feline. So I went down my list of 12 names and said each one to her while looking for some sort of approval, maybe a look my way, a blink. Anything. But I got nothin’.
I don’t know about you but daylight saving time always throws me for a loop. As you already know, I’m a night owl. I don’t do mornings well but I’m sorta forced to by my animal menagerie. They see to it I don’t reach the recommended 8 hours of sleep per night. In fact, they are quite adept at it.
I ask you, does any woman over age 60 get 8 hours of sleep? If so, I have yet to meet her. And if I ever do, I’m pretty sure I’d hate her. Wait, hate is too strong. Let’s say dislike immensely. But that’s only because I’d envy her. Then I’d dislike her because I envy her. Confused? Me too…
Now don’t get me wrong; I was unaware of the time change last Sunday. Can you believe it? (That was rhetorical.) Only caught my mistake when I glanced at my phone early that morning. Talk about being oblivious…
Recently I received a call from a gal named Kyle. She and her husband live in the mountains of Santa Cruz. She heard about my nonprofit feral rescue and wanted rodent control on her 5-acre property. Kyle tried calling organizations closer to her but never heard back. Hum, I wonder why? Sometimes groups are busy and ignore calls. Now don’t get me wrong; we aren’t that group. So I answered her call.
Santa Cruz mountains
Since Santa Cruz is a couple hours away, it’s not easy to hop over for a look at the property. So I asked Kyle to take photos and did a phone interview about their needs and whether the cats would have safe zones from possible predators. (They will.)
Loretta, my trusty volunteer, even took the day off work to help me relocate the 4 ferals. Something must be wrong with her. She loves doing relocations, no matter how far away. She accompanied me when we went to Fresno recently and trapped 6 stranded cats. That was a long day and night but she loved every minute. Like I said, something must be wrong with her. Continue reading →
So last week you learned 5 of my pets have quirky ways. Who doesn’t, right? But that’s only half of it. There’s still 5 more of my crew who are no less quirky than the others. Trust me here. For instance…
Fat Jack is a perfect example of a dichotomy. On the one hand he’s a lover boy and on the other he’s Mr. Hyde from Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. The boy has a hint of evil just below the surface and it emerges precisely when he’s being Mr. Lover Boy.
You see, Jack enjoys grooming my other cats. He’ll snuggle beside someone and begin licking with his painfully rough sandpaper tongue. But it must feel good because they let him. He licks around the head and face, their eyes closed, basking in his tongue massage and all’s well with the world. For about 3 minutes.
Then out of nowhere Mr. Hyde appears. Jack attempts to mount whichever cat, male or female (he’s not picky). He quickly becomes overstimulated and starts neck biting like a vampire. Next thing I hear are cries of discomfort so I shoo Jack away. Now don’t get me wrong; they still come back for more so I can only surmise the pleasure is worth the pain.
My cat Oliver is left-handed. Or I guess I should say left-armed. When he reaches lovingly for my face to so rudely wake me at 5:30 a.m. from much needed sleep, it’s always with his left arm. When he’s really being inconsiderate, he extracts his claws ever so slightly to show me he really needs to be petted that exact minute. And naturally, I do it.
Now don’t get me wrong; I guess we all have quirks, even our pets. It’s not necessarily a bad thing. Some are amusing, others simply annoying. But what can ya do? We are who we are and our pets are no exception.
Take Wally. He’s completely obsessed with the laser toy. Not a night goes by when he doesn’t sit at my feet staring, willing me to grab that mouse-shaped laser and flash it around the room while I lounge in my easy chair, hoping he will have amnesia and forget his nightly routine. But he never does.