I’m writing this on Friday afternoon sitting in my SUV in front of a home I’ve come to know much too well the last 41 days. In fact, I think I’ve been here more than my own home lately. Now don’t get me wrong; that’s a lie. But it feels true.
I’ve been on the hunt for a mom and her kittens with Constanza, our San Rafael volunteer coordinator for Marin Friends of Ferals. I’ve been doing TNR (trap-neuter-return) for 15 years and I’ve never encountered a smarter cat, feral or domestic. And THAT’S no lie.
Okay, so here’s what happened.
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?
I’m sitting on my sofa writing this, fighting off something intangible, unlike the pesky fly that buzzed around my face earlier today. (Which reminds me, what’s a fly doing still hanging around in October? Didn’t he get the memo it’s time to move on?) Anyway, what I’m fighting off today is exhaustion and I’m afraid it’s gaining the upper hand.
Normally I write in my office where I usually house a feral foster kitten. When I’m too busy to hold the little munchkin, I sometimes socialize it with a wand toy in one hand while typing with the other. So finishing a blog post when I’m fostering can be long and tiresome, not unlike this election season.
George, my latest foster
Anyway, I’d be in my office right about now but I don’t have the stamina to walk the 28 paces to get there. Yes, I actually counted. So I confess I wasn’t being honest just now because I actually walked the distance then came back to my cushy sofa to continue writing. Which brings me to the point of this week’s post; you can’t trust anyone. Continue reading
My back when out a couple weeks ago. Where it went, I’m not sure. But it’s out and it isn’t in a big hurry to come back.I’ve been lifting more than usual lately and not the beneficial kind of lifting, like at the gym. No, I’m lifting gargantuan wired cages and cat traps for our nonprofit cat rescue, Marin Friends of Ferals. (Yes, it’s a shameless plug.)
The scene of the crime happened in my garage. While lifting my twelfth trap, I felt a searing pain shoot through my lower back and thought: Have I been stabbed? Then I said (to nobody in particular, since I was alone), “Oh, that’s not good.” Continue reading