Let’s just say my dream isn’t the usual, like winning an obscene amount of lottery money or being awarded a Nobel Peace Prize. And, sadly, it doesn’t compare to Martin Luther King’s noble human rights dream. No, mine is much less life-altering and electrifying.
This is it: I hope one day to get arrested. In fact, it’s #12 on my bucket list, right after Visit Australia and just before Bike Tour in Maine (neither of which I’ve accomplished yet).
Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not actually trying to land in Marin County jail for just any crime. I’m not planning to rob a bank, as I don’t own a gun. Besides, it’s not in my nature to hurt anyone, so murder is out. I won’t even burgle a home to steal its contents and here’s why: Continue reading →
So I recently relocated 4 young ferals as mousers to a property that on the surface seemed perfect. Still, I entertained little nagging doubts about the owner of the 700 acre ranch, winery and B&B. Yes, he said all the right things but was it because he thought it’s what I wanted to hear? I wondered, but ignored my hunch because the place seemed perfect for feral mousers. And it was. But HE surely wasn’t.
We acclimate cats for 3 weeks in cages before releasing them. But when Mr. Jackass admitted he let the cats out after 10 days, he confirmed my reservations. Still, he assured me they were fine, eating a lot, everything’s hunky-dory…blah, blah, blah. So yeah, I wanted to believe him.
A couple weeks later I returned to collect our relocation supplies. That’s when I saw the magnitude of ignoring my hunch. Basically, the cats were starving. Turns out he barely fed them in the erroneous belief they’d be better hunters (the opposite of what I instructed). However, nobody can tell this guy anything so I immediately formulated a plan to recover the cats, knowing he’d resist.
About 6 months ago, a woman and her daughter sent me a video of a long-haired tabby racing through the parking lot of Target late one night. The daughter captured him on her iPhone while her mom yelled, “Film him before he runs away! Hurry, don’t miss him!” Followed by, “I KNOW Mom! I’m getting him!”
When Target closes at 9:00 p.m., cats emerge from the marshland that hugs the store on 2 sides, the bay on the other. Shoppers sometimes leave them food, some contact us (Marin Friends of Ferals) and some, I assume, simply look away.
Target isn’t located near homes so these are feral cats or possibly lost or dumped domestics. So my awesome volunteer, Holly, and I placed a feeding station under a bush off the parking lot, locked a motion sensor camera to it, and started feeding.
A couple Sunday’s ago you met my latest addition to my furry family. At that writing, this cross-eyed feline was called Trinity, the name Marin Humane gave her because she came from northern California. Since that day, her name has changed no less than 4 times. Hey, it’s not so easy naming someone you’re still getting to know.
For instance, when I decided to keep this semi-feral, I made a list of possible names with help from my friend Loretta. After all, she was spot-on naming Dash…entirely apropos for that madman. So for a couple days Trinity was Willow. But as I got to know her better, she wasn’t exactly graceful or willowy. This girl has a touch of crazy.
Then I called Trinity Sadie, although she didn’t look like a Sadie (whatever that looks like). That name soon became Chloe. But no matter how often I said it, it made absolutely no impression on her. In fact, I believe she ignored me even more than usual. Besides, Chloe is one of the top 10 names for female cats and she doesn’t strike me as a particularly trendy feline. So I went down my list of 12 names and said each one to her while looking for some sort of approval, maybe a look my way, a blink. Anything. But I got nothin’.
Three weeks ago Marin Humane asked me to foster a couple feral kittens. Naturally, I said yes to Trinity and Sturgill. You can foster domestic kittens all you want, I don’t blame you. Domestic kittens are like baby Pandas. What’s not to love?