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.
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.
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 →
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.
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.
So I have this foster cat, Winter. Seems I’ve had her forever. Sometimes 21 days feels that way. Now don’t get me wrong; I’m not complaining. Well, maybe I am. But give me a break. The cat is both adorable and a pain in my keister. Well actually, more like my shoulder. Or my arm. Or my neck.
Winter is as you’d imagine — mostly white with blue eyes the color of Tahoe sky on a brilliant January day when the sun shines on pillowy blankets of snow, all sparkly white and beautiful. But sometimes it can be too bright if you’re not prepared for it…kinda like my foster.
You’re probably wondering what I mean. Then again, maybe not. The thing is, Winter is wonderful 97.5% of the time. Probably the most loving cat I’ve ever fostered. But she has a tendency that might make her adoption a bit, shall we say, difficult.
Winter’s MO is that she’s a big hugger. Never seen anything like it. She jumps onto the arm of my office chair to wrap her arms around my neck. Winter then proceeds to nuzzle my face with what I interpret to be adoration. What can I say? She loves me. Never mind that she’d love anyone sitting in this chair. Continue reading →
I can’t believe I’m old enough to say this but back in the day, whenever I left the house, I didn’t have a cell phone in my purse. That’s because they weren’t invented yet. Unlike today, I was able to function just fine without staying connected every second of every day to every human being I know. If I needed to talk to someone, I waited until I got home to dial them from our rotary phone.
Yep, my family had a dial-up phone ages ago. Now don’t get me wrong; I wasn’t around in the day of switchboards like on the Andy Griffith Show where Andy has to ask switchboard operator, Sarah, to ring Aunt Bee for him. Please, I’m not THAT old!
Anyway, our phone was beige with a long coiled cord that stretched from the kitchen nook into the dining room, where we sat and gabbed. But for many years prior, the cord was only 2 feet long so we had to stand to talk. This was also the day of party lines. Know about those?
Well, I’m two-thirds of the way there so I figure #3 is lurking nearby, ready to pounce. Will I be driving, swerve to avoid a deer and crunch my car against a tree? Will I be walking the dogs when Skip, for the millionth time, stops directly in front of me for no apparent reason, whereupon I nosedive onto the sidewalk, breaking said nose? Or, more likely, it will have something to do with cats. It usually does.
Take injury #1 that occurred 3 weeks ago. I was trapping ferals for spay/neuter and using our new remote control drop trap for the first time. What an awesome invention. Cats are smart little buggers and they sometimes catch on to the fact that I’m trying to capture them, especially when I have to be present to operate a normal drop trap. They seem to know I’m hiding 50 feet away in the bed of a pickup, not-so-clandestinely peeking over the tailgate.
But with a remote control trap, I can be 200 feet away. Sometimes I need binoculars to see whether it’s a crow under there or a small black cat. But after testing the trap, I noticed it sometimes jammed when I pulled the trigger, failing to drop down all the way. This is not good. The cats were watching, like furry little spies, from behind wheels of parked cars, so I decided to test the trap again but catch it before the heavy metal hit the cement with a bang, scattering the ferals.