I feed my ferals at a bright and early six am. Of the small colony of six, five are friendly, so it’s common to have a swarm of cats around me while I’m filling the bowl.
This morning, however, I noticed a big black and grey tabby in the mix. This kitty and feral cat Maya were a bit swatty with each other, but the rest didn’t seem to mind. So kitty works its way over to the food dish, eager to eat, my presence not bothering it whatsoever. For a moment, my coffee-lacking self thought it looked amazingly like Cliff. And then my coffee-lacking self realized it WAS Cliff. Somehow he and feral cat Maya had opened the screen door.
That’s pretty good for not possessing thumbs. I’m just sayin’.
To: My itchy and swollen eye
I’m sorry you’re having problems dealing with what’s in the air right now, but I’m having problems dealing with you, with your watering and itching and not allowing me to see correctly. Please stop. I’m medicating you as much as the drugs will allow. Why don’t you just take one for the team, suck it up, and get over it?! Two weeks of this is enough!
Thank you for you pleasant return last night. I’ve missed you!
I’m still wonder what caused them.
I only started new meds this morning, so that’s not it. I had a late, but nothing abnormal, dinner. I had two cocktails. (New Amsterdam gin?) I gave a massage with pepper/lavender oil. I painted my nails black. Nothing that out of the ordinary.
Ah… the kitten. The kitten?
At the emergency vet Saturday night I witnessed a family carrying in a lifeless, in shock looking grey kitten of about three or four weeks old. The son was playing with it and stepped on it. I didn’t get any more information, but saw the family meeting the doctor/tech on the side of the building. I presume it was to gather the body for it’s final return home.
Life is cruel, even in accidental form.
Yeah, I think it WAS the kitten.
Poor, poor kitten.
The nightmares were terrible.
The couple hours’ of sleep interrupted by the alarm were peaceful, but the memories of the dreams seem indelible. I’m still haunted by them, even after proving to myself that everything is fine and none of that horror actually happened.
I need to forget them.
I need to forget because I need peace.
Number of unwanted healthy orphaned kittens successfully processed through the shelter and sent to foster care, all by your actions: two.
Number of lifelong friends having biopsy results come back negative (and thus bearing the label “cancer free”): one.
It’s amazing how those two very small numbers can have such strong, meaningful implications.
If you want to attract attention to yourself, wheel a shopping cart with five boxes of cats in it through a parking lot and into a Petco. People will stare. They’ll stare SO MUCH that you’ll have a hard time keeping a straight face and not laughing — especially when you take it nice and slow, a la baby-in-a-stroller, picking-up-each-set-of-wheels-to-reduce-the-jostling slow, when going over the curb and door threshold.
Wednesday night’s shipment.
If I switched the Ice Breakers Energy caffeinated mints with something akin to Xanax, would any of my colleagues notice?
8/17, 5:37 am is the exact moment I came into this world. Guess what time Sunday morning one of the cats bolted from the bed and jumped at the loose-on-the-door mirror, making a tremendous noise and waking us both from a sound sleep? If you guessed 5:37, you’re absolutely right!
Care to take a guess as to which cat it was?
Sunday afternoon we had some friends over for dinner. One of the cats got into the potato chips. One of the cats got into the pineapple upside down cake, too. And one of the cats got into the leftover cheeseburger. And baked beans. One of the cats threw up, and one of the cats ate some of the regurgitated cat food. (That is a sentence I never thought I’d type. Ever.) If you guessed Cliff, Cliff, Cliff, Cliff, Maisy, and Cliff, you’re right.
So that leaves up with the cleanup efforts. Someone had to clean up the messes from the food, the cat hairball and remaining regurgitation, and exorcise the demons out of the litter box this morning. Yep, that was me!
I guess it’s their way of saying Happy Birthday.