I’m taking the rest of the week off from journaling. EVERYTHING IS FINE, I just need a week to catch up on stuff around here. Or be lazy. One or the other. 🙂
Some links for you to check out if you’re in the mood to help some poor kitties. I was going to say that the need is strong this time of year, but honestly the need is strong all times of year.
There are three cats here in North Alabama whose owner died and are desperately in need of a home. They’re scaredy-cats and will take some time, love, and lots of attention – go read about them here.
Last but certainly not least, meet Hope. There’s so much to sweet Hope’s story that I could never summarize it in a few sentences, so I’m going to just link to her Facebook page and encourage you to go read about this sweet girl yourself.
And from reader Nicole:
Please vote for my friend Sue’s daughter Holly! There can only be one vote/email address. As of June 16th, there will be a run-off of only the top ten in the bid to win a week of volunteering in Africa. Holly keeps moving back and forth between 10th and 11th place. PLEASE HELP 🙂
I had hoped, this week, that I’d be able to tell you about the stray cat who showed up suddenly. Who looked like he hadn’t had a good solid meal in a while. Who we started feeding (of course – please, have you MET us?), and who stuck around as a result. Who peed on everything. EVERYTHING. If there’s a single blade of grass, a single inch of our property that he HADN’T peed on, it’s not because he didn’t WANT to pee on it, it’s just that he hadn’t gotten to it yet. He must have had to drink two gallons a day to keep up with the output. An unneutered male, covered in ticks and battle scars. It took time for him to trust us, and the first thing we did was put Frontline on him to kill the ticks and fleas. The second thing we did (after a few days) was to grab him up, toss him into a carrier, and take him off to the vet to be tested, examined, neutered, and vaccinated.
He was on track be another “not ours” cat. Because god knows we don’t have enough of THOSE.
Such a beautiful, sweet, personable boy – of course he tested positive. He was already sick. And for the second time this year I gave the order to euthanise a cat who wasn’t ours.
You know, I’m pissed but I don’t know exactly WHO to be pissed at. He was friendly enough after a while that it was clear he wasn’t feral. He belonged to someone at some point in the past. Did they dump him off in the country assuming that he’d take care of himself? Did he wander off and get lost? Does he belong to someone in the area? Who the fuck knows?
So rest in peace, sweet Roscoe.
(I had him cremated, and we’ll scatter his ashes near the garden. He enjoyed hanging out there.)
RIP, Charlie with the twisted-up toes.
On some farms, if a chick developed twisted-up toes and had to hobble around, they’d put her down immediately. Here at Crooked Acres, if she’s got a funny, sweet face and doesn’t seem to be in pain, we keep her around and make her one of our mascots.
Charlie was two years old (she came with our second batch of chickens in March 2008) and we unfortunately didn’t realize that her toes were all twisted up. I understand there are things you can do to straighten out a chick’s toes before they stay permanently twisted, but we didn’t notice in time.
She was a funny little hen – I know I’ve mentioned that the mother hens in the maternity yard didn’t see her as a threat at all. They weren’t bothered when she was around their babies, they allowed her to sleep in the nesting boxes with them – just Friday night, Fred looked in the blue coop to check on a hen who’s sitting on eggs (due to hatch in another week or so, I think), and Charlie was in the nest box with her, happy as could be.
I won’t go into details, but it became obvious Sunday afternoon that it was Charlie’s time to go, so I said goodbye to her, and Fred put her down.
I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE THINKING. No, we didn’t eat her. WE DON’T EAT OUR PETS. We talked about burying her under the pecan tree near the garden, where we buried the kittens last July. We talked about burying her where Spot and Mister Boogers lay. But ultimately, Fred buried her in the yard near the blue coop, because that’s where she was the happiest.
Good ol’ Charlie.
Well of course, Bolitar. There are 300 cat beds scattered in various locations through the house, so naturally you’ll want to curl up on the dirty door mat by the back door. (Bolitar loves to watch the other cats come in and go out the cat door, but has never once attempted to go out that door himself. UNLIKE HIS BAD BROTHER.)
Remember how just a couple of weeks ago we were worried because Sheila was clearly not feeling well and she’d lost a few ounces and was at just over a pound? Well, the little miss rallied. Last night she weighed in at just a smidge over two pounds! The boys all weigh well over two pounds, so they’ll be going soon to be spayed and neutered (I’ll give it another week so that Sheila’s not quite so close to the two-pound mark. My scale’s good, but it doesn’t always agree with the vet’s scale. Just like my personal scale doesn’t agree with the doctor’s scale!)
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry.
2007: Hey look, it’s been three years since we first met Stinkerbelle! (She was Maryann then.)
2005: She’s a bad influence, that one.
2004: I have faith in you!
2003: Things that sucked.
2002: Here’s the thing. If you get yourself involved with a man you know full well is married, a man who doesn’t file for divorce until 6 months after he’s met and started dating you, then you don’t get to play the victim.
2001: My very first House Anxiety dream!
2000: Ah, world traveler, me.