I have many adventures in feral cat rescue and meeting interesting people is part of the adventure. Now don’t get me wrong; interesting isn’t always so great. Take, for instance, two bozos I’ve had the displeasure of dealing with who work at a local college.
Slinky, an elderly feral our nonprofit has been feeding for 10 years, lives under a bridge at the college. But the head honchos (the bozos) have always prohibited us from offering him shelter. Why, you ask? Because they have their heads up their butts. I’m talkin’ way, way up there.
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.
Years ago I read that during the filming of Gone with the Wind, Vivien Leigh was quoted saying Clark Gable had atrociously bad breath, making intimate scenes with him extremely unpleasant. To this day I can’t watch a Clark Gable movie without thinking about that and wondering if his female costars held their breath in his presence. His response? “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” Just a guess…
Yep, definitely holding her breath
Movie stars have a certain image they portray on screen and it sometimes crosses over into real life. Many are glamorized and idolized — all those words ending with “ized.” But the truth often contradicts our impression of them, don’t you think?
Now don’t get me wrong; we all know the persona is an illusion the movie industry created. Still, nobody wants to hear the awful truth, like Bradley Cooper stinks. Yep, you read that right. He’s a…
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 →
Last week was Sharon’s 2nd Annual Witches and Wine Halloween party. Truth be told, I’m not a big costume person but one doesn’t want to miss this gathering. Lots of old friends and potential new ones gather to eat and drink the night away; two of my favorite things.
So while Sue drove us to Santa Rosa, we attempted to put on our Halloween fingernails. In hindsight, probably not the best choice of where to do that, which I realized when I dropped one between the seats. Say bye bye. But luckily we had 24, no doubt meant for clumsy people like me.
Being my first endeavor with fake fingernails, I hadn’t noticed they came in different sizes. So I pressed on whatever I happened to grab. Not until they were stuck like glue did I realize my mistake. I then pried off half the nails, which was no easy feat. Those little suckers meant business.