Eight is Enough

Now don’t get me wrong; lest you get the mistaken impression I’ve entirely lost my mind, I have to tell you something I hope will sway you in the direction of believing I am not, after all, crazy. Yes, it might very well appear that way, but as we already know, appearances are deceiving. At least that’s the rumor.don't believe everything you think

Anyway, what you need to know is that I’m currently fostering feral kittens #199 and 200. But that’s not the crazy part. I’d say 95% of my fosters eventually become adopted through Marin Humane. The other 5% I relocate to outdoor properties because they’re still not adoptable after socializing. That leads me to foster #198.

A few months ago I relocated a couple ferals to a family who wanted mousers on their property and Panther seemed to fit the bill. But as it turned out, he fooled us all into believing he was a wild man when all along he was a master of disguise.disguised cat

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The Cat Bed Caper

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!)

the bridge

The bridge

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. aint' gonna happen

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

How Embarrassing

This is embarrassing to admit, but since we’re buddies and I know you won’t judge me, I’m going to tell you what I did.

You know how pitiful my memory is, right? Unfortunately we’ve established this in numerous postings. But I’ve also been known to embarrass myself even when I’m alone, if that’s possible. And guess what?

I’m a note taker. This goes hand in hand with someone whose memory banks have a slow leak, sorta like a puncture in a Doughboy pool. Therefore, I’m lost without my precious notebook. Like a Visa card, I never leave home without it.

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It’s Criminal

I think by now we’ve established I have a poor memory. But another area in which I’m sorely lacking is my attention span. Unfortunately, I can’t blame this one on menopause, as I’ve been “skippy” since high school. This is evident by the fact that my friends chose for me a personalized license plate with that name.

So when you put those two deficiencies together, it’s not pretty. I, like many, will walk into a room and forget why I’m there. But instead of getting upset, I get distracted. Continue reading

Letting Go

I have a problem. If you looked inside my closet, it would appear I love to shop. REALLY love to shop.

closet full 2

Just one of 3 closets

But recently I discovered something I should have known all along: It’s not shopping that’s the problem; it’s rarely purging what I buy. For instance, some of my clothing was popular during the Reagan era. I mean, really…who keeps hip-huggers that long?

hip huggers

Now don’t get me wrong. My apparent reluctance to discard clothing I’d forgotten I even owned came as a surprise to me. Suddenly my closets seemed awfully small. This became evident when it took nearly all my strength to push dozens of occupied hangers aside in search of a particular item. That’s when I discovered a bridesmaid dress from a friend’s 1981 wedding. And no, that’s not a typo. I’m talking 1981.

Hello. My name is Janet and I have a problem letting go. Continue reading