Who You Callin’ Fat?

jack in tree

Jackie in his thinner days

So you know my cat Jack, right? Well, his new name is Jackie. That’s because he now shares a striking resemblance to Jackie Gleason. If you have no clue who that is, I’ll tell ya.

Jackie Gleason was an actor and comedian who starred in The Honeymooners in the 1950s. What made him stand out, besides his ability to make people laugh, was his rotundness. In other words, the man sported a rather large girth.

Jackie Gleason

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not prejudiced against those of the extra large variety. My grandfather, aunt, uncle and cousin all fit that description. Fatness sorta runs in my family, which is why I eat ice cream with no added sugar (and am teased for it).

ice cream 3

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Mykonos, Here We Come!

Thursday, 9 p.m.

So we’re sitting at SFO waiting for our flight to Greece to take off. And waiting. And waiting. Who knows, we might still be waiting when you read this. Actually, I think it’s miraculous we’re still planning to board the plane for Mykonos and a week-long spay/neuter mission for abandoned animals on the island.

It’s almost comical what we’ve been through so far. But we’re on a mission, literally and figuratively. Nothing will deter us. Besides, when 4 strong-willed women get their minds made up, it’s a losing proposition to think those minds can be changed.

Still, we are definitely getting a hint that we’d best stay home. We’re preferring to believe it’s a test of our devotion to our cause and not that this plane will vanish into the ocean minutes after take off. No, I’m afraid we have other plans. 
Here’s what’s testing us:

All our printers stopped working this week except Pat’s, but her cell phone wouldn’t receive texts; Pat’s toilet broke, then mine too; Lisa was late arriving to my house for a ride to the airport because of an accident on the bridge; our area has 55 mph winds so our plane is delayed 4 hours; I bought an $18 sandwich moments before Air France gave us meal vouchers. 

This morning, customs in Athens rejected all our medical supplies we mailed weeks ago and are being sent back as we sit here. So we have no surgery kits. We ordered them today from Athens at double the price. It’s a mystery whether we’ll get them by Monday. Then we learned air traffic controllers are on strike in Paris where we’ll be changing planes. Oh joy. 

Friday, 11:30 p.m.

Made it to Paris 22 hours after leaving home. Now don’t get me wrong; it gets better. The ATM appeared to accept my card (twice) but I received no cash. Who knows, I could be out $1200 at this point. We then waited 2 hours in line at the airport to get a connecting flight but instead got vouchers for a hotel stay. Trouble was, 3 of us were sent to one hotel and Lisa to another, which we flatly refused. 
We have no change of clothes, as they couldn’t locate all our bags, so we received t-shirts and toiletries. Had to call the front desk when the lights in my room wouldn’t work. Turns out I’m supposed to insert my key card into a slot on an inside wall. Being it was pitch black, how was I supposed to see the slot? I’m dizzy, dead tired and not wearing glasses. I was lucky to still know my name. 

Saturday, 8:00 a.m.

Slept a couple hours then snuck Lisa into the hotel restaurant for the complimentary breakfast. Tried boarding the plane at 7:00 a.m. for Athens but my ticket was repeatedly refused at the kiosk. Turns out they’d changed my seat, which the computer didn’t recognize. So now I’m writing this on our 3 hour flight, which will be followed by a 3 hour boat ride to Mykonos.

It’s been a challenging 33 hours so far and the thought did pass my mind that we’re somehow being tested on this trip. But we’re all still smiling and haven’t wavered in our goal to help as many unaltered and starving animals as we can, no matter the challenge in finally reaching them. 

After all, we are 4 strong-willed women on a mission. 

4:00 p.m. 

Landed 5 hours ago. Pat’s luggage still hasn’t arrived. 

Stuck at the Paris airport 22 hours after takeoff

Copycat

 

copycat2

I’m living with a copycat.

The weird thing is, it’s an actual cat. No surprise I guess, as I’m assuming the saying originated when someone astute recognized that kittens tend to copy their mothers. Hold on while I google that. Okay, I’m back. Turns out the earliest reference to copycat was in 1887 with no mention of felines. After that it gets too boring for words, so Iet’s move along.

My copycat happens to be my cat Tippi, so named because her tipped ear is severe. Seems ever since I adopted the ever-entertaining Jack a few months ago, Tippi’s personality has changed. And not, might I add, for the worse.

tippi

Tippi

I trapped Tippi in a feral colony 2 1/2 years ago in the small farming and ranching community of Valley Ford. Tippi and her 21 assorted siblings were born under the grocery store. Thankfully, the store owners asked us (Marin Friends of Ferals) to have them spayed/neutered before she had 41 siblings. Long story short, I ended up keeping Tippi after realizing she was a tweener – not adoptable at the shelter yet not feral enough to be content living under the market.

valley-ford-market

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You Don’t Know Jack

Jack, my recently adopted 4th cat, will be my last. I won’t be guardian to more felines until one of mine goes over the Rainbow Bridge. And it’s not because I’m afraid of being a crazy cat lady. That boat sailed a while ago.

miss crazy cat lady

No, the reason I’m stopping after Jack is because, well, you don’t know Jack. And as it turns out, I didn’t either. Now don’t get me wrong; I wouldn’t change my decision to add Jack to my animal family. It’s just that the more I get to know him, his true personality emerges. Need I say more? (Well actually, yes, or I won’t have a blog post today.) Continue reading

Loving Every Minute

Everyone knows I have a slew of animals. Does seven make a slew?

Anyway, when I looked around the other day, I realized how much my pets impact my life, both good and bad. They’re my furry family. Yep, I have an animal house and I love every minute. Well, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration.

animal house

Four of my seven

Let’s just say I’ve had to make compromises for having dogs, Nellie, Callie and Skip and cats, Oliver, Savannah, Tippi and Jack. I can’t expect my nice things to stay nice, so my furniture is often covered like a winterized beach home. I have tables with embedded teeth marks and a backyard with a hole almost deep enough to bury a Mini Cooper, courtesy of Nellie. Continue reading