So you know how I relocate un-adoptable feral cats to properties for rodent control? Well, last week’s relocation was slightly different. The property owner was referred to me by one of our volunteers so I thought, okay, great.
It’s rare that I know the people I’m bringing cats to. How it works is: they contact us, I get their address then go see if their property is a good fit for ferals. I never give it a second thought. And on second thought, maybe that’s not so smart.When I pulled into the driveway of Steve’s 7 acre spread, I noticed two houses. The one in back, where Steve lives, has an old barn attached that once housed ranch hands nearly 100 years ago. It sits at the end of a long dirt driveway. And as I drove in, I noticed a figure pacing back and forth through the lone upstairs window. Sorta eerie. I have to tell you, the whole scene reminded me of Norman Bates in Psycho. But maybe I’ve watched too many thrillers.
There’s nothing quite as special as friendships between women. Now don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying men don’t have similar relationships with other men. I’ve known some who do. But I think women tend to nurture their personal relationships to extraordinary degrees. And thank goodness for that.
Last Tuesday my friends and I celebrated Kim’s birthday. We’ve all been friends for over 40 years. Sitting at our table with these ladies at Old Chicago’s Pizza got me thinking about how lucky we are. Of the 9 of us there, only Kim hadn’t played on our softball team. We played together for 10 years and went 33 games without a loss – 3 full seasons. The 34th game? No comment.
When my parents died in 2004, I took their 7-year-old Kenmore washer and dryer — back when Kenmore meant quality. Should you purchase their appliances around age 70, chances were you’d die before those did. Turns out that washer and dryer lasted 19 years before biting the dust…kicking the bucket…going kaput.
So last September I bought a Whirlpool washer and dryer since they received rave reviews. Fast forward to last week when I put a load of towels in my still-sparkling-clean and shiny dryer, hit the appropriate buttons, tapped START and waited for the magic to begin. Nothing happened.
Hum. Maybe I did something wrong. So I repeated the process. Still nothing. Now don’t get me wrong; all the buttons were lit up, teasing me into thinking my wet towels were about to become extraordinarily dry and fluffy. And to think I fell for it…
So here’s the situation. It’s 8:00 p.m. on Saturday night. I just spent the day cleaning my garage. Loads of fun. I’m grimy, dusty and full of chili because after I spent the day cleaning my garage I made a pot of veggie chili. Then I made macaroni noodles to put the chili on because that’s how my ex’s family did it in Kansas City. So since 1982, when we married, that’s how I’ve eaten it and now I can’t eat naked chili.
Anyway, now I’m stuffed. I also fed my animal crew and my foster cat, all of whom I assume are stuffed as well. My foster cat is nameless because I don’t permanently name them until I know they’ll be adoptable. I foster feral kittens and semi-feral cats. For some reason it’s harder for me to have to relocate them to outdoor homes (if they’re too feral to be adopted) after I’ve named them. Weird, huh?
So when I enter the room in which I’m housing a big orange tabby female, I say ‘Hey Boo Boo.” No reaction. Sometimes I say, “Hey Monkey.” But again, no response. I’ll try on a bunch of names during the time I’m fostering but once I realize that cat or kitten will be adoptable, a name will suddenly hit me and that’s the one that sticks.
Many moons ago, Jim, my ex-hubby and I had an old TV antenna on our roof, left by the previous homeowners. It was a huge metal eyesore, not connected to anything but the chimney, I suppose for support. Why it was still there? What purpose did it serve? Here’s my theory…
I believe that antenna’s sole purpose was to emit some sort of vibration recognized only by the dogs of Marin County. When they heard this silent emission, I envisioned German Shepherds jumping their backyard fences and Beagles leaping out open windows all in search of our front porch. I tell ya, if there was a stray dog within a mile, it seemed to end up at our house.
Now don’t get me wrong; not only did strays wander into our yard but I also spotted them (and still do) while driving about town. Knowing I’m an animal lover, Jim was convinced I enticed them with treats hidden in my car trunk or some such nonsense. I would never do that. I prefer to keep all treats in the glove compartment. Continue reading →