There, I said it. I’m not exactly proud of it, but I’m not embarrassed by it either. It is what it is. To be honest, I’m actually okay with it and I’ll tell you why.
As you know, I’m an animal person. I’ve had many cats and dogs in my lifetime so I can’t imagine not having pets living with me. Working in cat rescue, I’ve fostered 272 kittens to date. Over the years, my menagerie grew as I’d add a cat to the count here and there when one of my fosters wasn’t going to be adoptable. I ask you,
If I told you about the week I had, you wouldn’t believe me. But it’s why I’m re-posting this blog from 2022 since I had limited time this week. So grab a cup of coffee, sit back, relax, and I hope you enjoy this post.
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 problem with 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 dog-napping 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 our 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 with a past friend of hers. The dog was locked in a cage in a basement with little 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.
Okay, so you probably noticed my last post ran for two weeks. That’s because I was in France with my besties, cruising for two glorious weeks along the Seine River from Paris to Normandy, which I’ll be blogging about. But until then, here’s a rerun from 2022. I hope you enjoy it…
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 loony. 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.
Well, this is a bit embarrassing.
I have rats. As in the kind that are disgusting, not the cute domestic rats my associate Donna has as pets. Her rats actually have personalities, like you and me. They don’t talk and they can’t shop or go to a movie with you but overall they’re pretty entertaining.
I don’t know why we find domestic rats cuter than sewer rats, which are considered vermin, but there you go. My guess is the moniker, sewer, doesn’t enhance their image. But the thought of vermin taking up residence in my walls gives me the Creeps with a capital C. Unfortunately, I’ve had the Creeps a lot lately.
So Wednesday morning I’m on the freeway bringing kittens to get spayed and neutered at a local veterinary clinic. Naturally, I’m late because the freeway is a parking lot. In the back of my SUV, seven of the 11 kittens we rescued from Kern County are serenading me with a chorus of meows.
What lucky kitties. Our feral cat rescue rarely deals with domestics but when we learned these were scheduled to be euthanized for lack of adopters, we decided to help. And that’s how I found myself on the freeway Wednesday morning.
