I can't save every cat on the planet.  I realize this.  So why do I grieve when I feed the scrawniest, most timid feral, and he begins to eat, and my evil Alpha-Male Daddy Cat chases him off?

--
Katzenengels TNR

Meowllelujah, Jesus is mine!

Are your cats old enough to learn about Jesus?

Kittens' hearts, at birth, are filled with what theologians call "original mischief."

God bless The Onion!

About Skittles and Charley (neé Francie) -- a year-plus later

For starters, Francie lost her original name because we decided she must be a boy. After renaming her Charley, we realized she was a girl after all. By then, she was Charley. It suits her.

Above, I wrote "We are not -- I repeat: NOT -- keeping them. Six is too many." I now say, six was too many, eight was too many, and now, with our winter evening boy passing through, nine is too many.

I can't say no. It's because of sheer saturation and my patient mate's strident NOs that we have no more than 8/9. What's more, this many cats are actually getting on my nerves. Never thought that could happen.

We've been unable to catch Skittles, the Ass-Kicker, to get her spayed. Once we finally do, though,* we are putting in a cat door. I believe the risks will be worth it for everyone's mental happiness.

* I am slowly gaining her trust, all of which will be dashed once she's finally caught. Oh, well.

Skittles and Francie

Last week when trapping ferals for TNR, we managed to get two kittens. We intend to socialize them and find someone to adopt them. (We are not -- I repeat: NOT -- keeping them. Six is too many.)

Last night they played with one of us for the first time, and I thought I would DIE from their cuteness. The one we named Skittles (the one that kicked my ass, named after an on-line friend known for saying, "I'll KICK YOUR ASS!") was the first to jump up onto the bed with me, lured by the feather toy. It took her a few minutes to warm up, but she finally lost her inhibitions and was soon romping across my legs as she played with the feathers. She grabbed a strap on one of the night splints I wear on my feet, and yanked on it with this tiny little "GRR!" in her throat. AAAAAAHHHHHHH! SO CUTE!! She approached my wiggling fingers with caution, then inched forward and FWAP! smacked a finger then jumped away. That was what finally got me laughing so hard that she got scared and jumped down.

But she was back again within seconds. At one point she had her back to me and sat on my hand. She is soooo soft, and I wanted so badly to pet her, but I stayed still. I knew petting her would freak her.

After a while, her sister's curiosity overtook her fear and she got onto the bed, too. She is quite different from Skittles. I've named her Francie, after a very serious, contemplative child, the main character in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. While both cats are tabbies, Skittles has unique tortoiseshell markings mixed in with the stripes, and her undercoat is white or gray. Francie is very dark, with black and brown stripes and a dark undercoat. Francie's dark face gazed at me while she just sat, Sphinx-like, on the bed for several minutes. I could see her little nose working overtime. Finally she got up, stretched, and walked over to the feathers. She grabbed them and tried to kill the bird. She didn't play with half the energy of her sister, but she is much more curious. She sniffed my fingers several times, and played with them, too.

I can't wait to get home tonight and play with these KITTENS!!

Richard

Richard and Harry are ten-year-old littermates. They came across country w/ K.J. and me in carriers in the back seat of a Toyota. They weren't happy about it. Four years later, they're even less thrilled that there are four additional cats in the house.

Daddy was a stray. He came to our house for food. He was torn up, bloody, very unhealthy. We took him to the vet, got him neutered, tested for FELV (negative), cleaned up, patched up, and brought him in. We learned he has asthma. He's very hard to treat -- fights every pill, every attempt w/ the transdermal meds, and every trip to the vet.

Daddy is extremely aggressive. He has Richard whipped. Richard is making his displeasure with this situation known by peeing wherever he wants to. Earlier this month we spent $130 to have the couch dry-cleaned because he drenched it.

I took Richard to the vet -- the second time for this problem; he's been doing it for a while -- no physiological causes for this behavior. He's also compulsively grooming, so that he's nearly bald on his back legs. The vet gave me tiny doses of Elavil, an antidepressant, saying that it might help. We haven't given him the first dose yet.

I honestly think the best solution would be to find a new home for Daddy. He would be very hard to place. Not only because he has asthma, but he is a troubled little soul: he must eat the food YOU are eating; he worries at your heels whenever you bring in groceries -- and tears into any cat food bag left in the open; he knocks stuff off counters and shelves if he is ignored. And of course he is Top Cat, and throws his weight around liberally. The only other cat he is unable to perturb is Petey. Petey takes no shit from anyone.

But the problem really isn't that it would be so hard to find Daddy a home. It is that I can't give him up.

The question, then, is what to do about Richard's inappropriate elimination (as the cat books call it). He hadn't done it since we had the couch cleaned, but upon sitting down to relax after work on Tuesday, we smelled it. We still haven't found where he peed. I'm at my wits' end with this.

Richard


Daddy

Chucky made it across, and I still sobbed.

x

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"Courage is the price that life exacts for granting peace." Amelia Earhart

two ducks and six geese

We're surrounded in Southern Maryland by water birds. This morning I saw two ducks leading six geese, flying to the west, as I drove to work.

There's a little pond near our house. It's populated by white and Canada geese and white, mallard, and American black ducks. Frequently we see a great blue heron -- Ichabod -- wading for his breakfast. I sometimes see a tall white water bird in one of the two ducts that runs under the road at the end of the pond. I haven't looked this bird up yet, but I suppose it could be a white heron. I don't think it's an egret; it's too big.

I've seen fish leap from the pond. And there are turtles in it -- eastern something turtles; I can't remember what they're called.

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"Courage is the price that life exacts for granting peace." Amelia Earhart