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.
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:
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 →
A while back I was blogging once a month about things I find ridiculous. And let me tell you, I find LOTS of things ridiculous. So I had to give the posts different titles. After all, I couldn’t exactly title them all, Don’t Be Ridiculous. Well, I guess I could. But I didn’t. (Click on the title to read that posting.)
Now don’t get me wrong. You may think I’m shamelessly promoting those past postings, urging you through not-so-subliminal suggestions to click away, thereby increasing my readership. How dare you think that! Would I do that to you? Well friends, as a matter of fact, yes.
So last week you learned 5 of my pets have quirky ways. Who doesn’t, right? But that’s only half of it. There’s still 5 more of my crew who are no less quirky than the others. Trust me here. For instance…
Fat Jack is a perfect example of a dichotomy. On the one hand he’s a lover boy and on the other he’s Mr. Hyde from Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. The boy has a hint of evil just below the surface and it emerges precisely when he’s being Mr. Lover Boy.
You see, Jack enjoys grooming my other cats. He’ll snuggle beside someone and begin licking with his painfully rough sandpaper tongue. But it must feel good because they let him. He licks around the head and face, their eyes closed, basking in his tongue massage and all’s well with the world. For about 3 minutes.
Then out of nowhere Mr. Hyde appears. Jack attempts to mount whichever cat, male or female (he’s not picky). He quickly becomes overstimulated and starts neck biting like a vampire. Next thing I hear are cries of discomfort so I shoo Jack away. Now don’t get me wrong; they still come back for more so I can only surmise the pleasure is worth the pain.