Wet.

I didn't want to wake up, but I had the brief sensation of wetness on the back of my left arm. As the cat hair covered fog began to lift, I noticed that Spencer was right next to my head, purring loudly. Time to get up and feed him, of course. I glanced at the clock.

OMG. 9:30AM!

I gotta get up, but it felt so good to lie there, but why was my arm damp? I petted Spencer. He was purring louder than a jet engine. I realized it had been so dry lately that perhaps it was bothering his sinuses. Maybe he drooled? Could that be? Spencer has NEVER drooled before. Huh.

I could barely focus. I looked at my arm. Where it felt wet it was a pale brown in color.

BROWN?

BROWN?!!!

BROWN as IN POOP-BROWN?!!!

I sat up, looked at the sheets and saw a watery brown POO puddle. I quickly grabbed Spencer's tail and lifted it. There, below his amazingly pouffy buns was a stringlet of poop, or "pooptailia" as I call it.

Not wanting to be selfish, I woke Sam up to share my "good news". Sam kindly got up, since I was blocked in by Spencer's pooptailia and the shock of starting the day off on the WRONG, oh, so WRONG, side of the bed!

We got Spencer cleaned up, I washed my arm, we stripped the bed and I got the laundry started. I got back into bed. I wanted to re-boot my day. Even without the sheets, the bed had a peculiar magnetic pull on my eyelids. I wanted to go back to the time BEFORE I had cat POOP on my ARM! My ARM!

Sam got up to feed the cats. I was alone. Here comes the train to Sleepytown!

Of course, Spencer immediately jumped onto the bed, practically into my face-mostly poop-free, this time, at least. I sat up, realizing there was NO way I was going to arrive at Sleepytown any time soon and if I didn't lure Mr. Pouffy Pants downstairs, he wouldn't eat his breakfast. Sounds silly, but I think Spencer's a few fries short of a Happy Meal and if I don't go downstairs when he goes, he doesn't eat. So I got up. What else could go wrong, anyway?

If only I had stayed in bed a few minutes longer. If only I hadn't gone downstairs and tried to do the right thing, by herding Spencer to his plate. If only I had cat-like reflexes as I was putting the clean dishes away...

...I wouldn't have knocked a paring knife off the counter, which fell in clichè-slow-motion into MY DELICATE, FRAGILE, NEVER-BEEN-KNIFED-BEFORE PINKY TOE!!!!

Sure, this doesn't LOOK that bad, but it's a deep puncture. So there!

All I could say was; "Shit!, Shit!, Shit!" Not only AS the knife was headed for my toe, during the nanoseconds when I was too stupid to MOVE my foot and I braced for impact, but after the knife tore into my toe. I couldn't move. All I could do was swear. I didn't want to look. It felt like I severed my toe. I looked! I saw blood! The pain was racing through my toes and up my leg. Sam walked into the kitchen, not realizing what had happened-like anyone would realize what happened just seeing me hunched over in pain!

I suppose the toe-terror was a karmic sign. Up until that moment and for the better part of the last week, Sam and I had not been getting along very well. Now we had something to remind us that life is precious and that we would be wise to stop fighting and just love each other. It truly was a miraculous change.

Please tell me you didn't believe that crap. I cut my toe! This is not life and death. Sure, Sam was nice to me, but really now, this is not a cure to fighting, but it WAS nice to have Sam fuss over me, but this was far from, say the Mets winning the World Series again?

So that's it.

Ha ha ha. WRONG!

More misery in a bit...

Cricket may be deciding on whether or not he can take down this turkey and I wonder
if the turkey's thinking the same thing about Cricket?

Even though I've been doing some sort of cat rescue for about seven years now, I still consider myself to be naive about how things work. Something came up this week that really bugged me. Intellectually, I knew about it, but I stuffed it into one of the dark closets in my mind, so I wouldn't think about it.

I need your help. I need to come up with a better solution. I'm not sure what it is, but I hope someone can figure it out.

This has to do with TNR.

I KNOW there's a severe overpopulation of free-roaming cats in this country and beyond and I know that with ferals, there's not enough time in the world to domesticate each and every one of them, then find them all good, loving homes. Somewhere we figured out that if we can't bring them to a shelter, since they'll likely be euthanized, we opt to return them where they came from and hope they'll survive on their own or in a managed situation where they have a caregiver who feeds them and looks after their needs.

So far, this sounds great, but it falls short in one painful way.

What happens when we trap a feral and she's pregnant? Unless she's obviously pregnant, there's no way to know without doing an exam. An exam can't be done on a feral cat since they won't allow a human to handle them. This puts the trappers into a bad situation. They trap the cat. They KNOW it COULD be pregnant, but the only way to find out is to anesthetize the cat-which KILLS ANY UNBORN KITTENS it may be carrying.

Unless we can find a way to determine if a feral cat is pregnant BEFORE it is anesthetized, we'll just keep on killing kittens.

Yes, I know there are the arguments that most feral moms are usually in such poor condition to begin with, that it's very likely that their offspring will be stillborn, born with defects or will die shortly after being born. It's a VERY tough life. Trapper Jeanne tells me she rarely sees juvenile cats or kittens. They just don't survive.

So is it better that they don't ever get a chance or is there a way we can find those pregnant ferals and get them into foster homes until their kittens are born and are thriving? Last year I had a feral mom with three kittens. I socialized the kittens and they all got adopted. Mom got a barn placement with a nice family who'll look after her for the rest of her life.

(Feral Mama-right, Jelly-Belly, Elmo and Happy on their kitty condo, left)

THIS works for me. We NEED to find a way to stop aborting these little ones and find more foster homes. It's not that tough to do. If I can do it, anyone can do it.

I need some good ideas to help these cats. What do you think would help? Let's make some changes!

This is my BIRTHDAY CAKE.

No, really.

One of "my friends" made it for me. What does this mean? Does she like me?

And the answer is: No. Well, yes, but it was difficult. I wanted to throw up, but I knew that would be rude, so i just ate it. Wait 'til you see the photos of Bob, wondering if he's supposed to do his "bidness" in there!

Happy Birthday to Me!

I may no longer have to worry that when I croak, all my cats will be f-ed up the ass without the benefit of lubrication. I mean, now, with the help of the State's Legislature, I may be able to set up a Trust Fund for my cats, so that after I go to the Rainbow Bridge, my cats won't have to worry about being placed in a Shelter.

If you live in CT or want to know more about this so you can ask YOUR State's Legislature to create a similar Bill, just visit HERE.

SEE THE BILL HERE

IF you live outside of CT, you can read an informative BLOG about Pet Trusts written by Attorney Danny Meek.

Newtown, CT, my home town for the past 18 years, was a nice enough place, until last week.

For some reason, which the First Selectman, Joe Borst (who will not divulge for legal reasons), FIRED our Animal Control Officer, Carolee Mason. I can't provide both sides of this issue fairly, but I can provide one side of the issue-which is this---the people in Newtown who actually work with Carolee, like our three rescue groups and numerous Pound volunteers have all said, almost in unison, is that Carolee is a shining star, who loves and cares for the animals of Newtown, whether wild or domesticated. That her firing was unconscionable and we want her reinstated NOW!

When a wayward sheep was found on a busy road, Carolee, came to the rescue. Even though she found the owner, its' owner didn't want the sheep any more and let it run free to be devoured by coyotes or hit by a car. She brought the sheep home and paid for its' Vet care out of her own pocket, then in time was able to find the sheep a new home. And this goes far beyond a single sheep. Hundreds of dogs and cats have happy homes because of her.

Last night there was a Board Meeting of the Selectmen and a number of us showed up to protest the firing of Carolee. I was glad to see the local television news, NBC 30 WVIT, was present and ran a story about it, as well as one of our local papers. You can read more HERE

Bottom line is it sounds like bureaucratic BS is going on here. Carolees' Mother, Mildred Hawks, told me that it had to do with MINOR infractions regarding how Carolee filled out PAPERWORK! Also that she felt it had more to do with things going on with personal matters, not issues of job performance.

We NEED Carolee back in her job, NOW. Because of her, our rescue group has been able to save more cats lives. She's vivacious, compassionate, a serves the community. She goes above and beyond the call of duty for the animals in this town and without her, those animals lives will surely be put in jeopardy.

If you feel, as I do, that this firing is completely unfair and uncalled for, you can email your concerns to Joe Borst, First Selectman of Newtown, CT here: first.selectman@newtown-ct.gov

WTF!?!

I might as well have a weekly appointment locked in with my Vet. If it's not Gracie needing more tests or meds, it's one of the other cats. This time it was Nora. Two nights ago Sam found a growth on Nora's chest. Being a Vet-wanna-be, I took at look at it. It looked like one of those don't-worry-about-it sort of growths, but since Nora's almost nine and she was overdue for a butt shave (more on that, later) AND Gracie was due to start her Allergy Vaccine therapy...what the heck. In for a dime, in for a dollar-let's go to the Vet AGAIN. It's only been FIVE days since I was last there.

First of all, Nora HATES being in the car. So for the entire drive there she meowed every second or so. Some of the meows sounded downright ANGRY. Then I heard the telltale warning sound-the sound of furious scratching of the newspapers that lined the bottom of her DOG-sized crate. Then, silence. You know what that means.

I waited a few seconds to begin breathing poop particles, but none came, at least none from Nora. For once she didn't crap in the carrier, but there was something not RIGHT with me. I was FARTING like a bubbling brook (or farting brook)!

"What the HECK did I eat last night?" I said to Sam, as he wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Musta been the garlic in the spaghetti sauce."

"Yeah, but YOU ate the SAME thing. Where are your farts?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's my pure heart and natural lifestyle?"

To which I replied by farting again.

What was deeply troubling (yeah right, it just made me giggle like a crazy person), was that the farting did not seem to be any closer to ending (pardon the pun). Once we reached Maple Ridge and said hello to Amber, we were left to our own devices while Dr. Larry and gang were in the back helping someone else.

I figured it was as good a time as any to sneak out a few more farts. What the HELL was the matter with me? My body was rotting from the inside out, not to mention, though I am mentioning that there was NO WAY TO SNEAK these farts out. They were LOUD and they were PROUD!

Then I started to realize that if I could hear everyone talking in the back, they could HEAR what I was doing out of MY BACK END. Oh man. I thought maybe I was done. Amber, one of the super-techs, came to tell us we could enter the exam room. When I stood up, another fart loaded into the chamber. I was doomed. I was going to rip a big one in front of a virtual stranger. I managed to hold it until Amber left the room, but no sooner than the door had shut, I lost another "round" right at Sam.

Then I started to laugh.

Then the farts would keep squeaking out with every laugh-like a farting machine gun.

The room we were in had a sweet ECHO. While Sam was trying to sit quietly and roll his eyes from the noxious gas, I kept on giggling. Every so often someone would come into the exam room to do something to one of the cats and every time they left, sure enough-bllllllaaaaaaaaap!!!

I find it very unlikely that no one knew what was going on. I'm sure they were being polite or just laughing their asses off in the other room. After we were done at the Vet's, it seemed my putrid chamber was finally empty. Good thing, too, I'm tired of writing and I just realized I didn't even get to the part about Nora's giant Anal Gland!!!

Oh well! Next time!

Why does it cost $28 to have my cat's anal glands "expressed?" I mean, really, how do you quantify the cost for having to stick your finger into a cats rectum and squeeze the smelly goo out of their glands? Do you add a few dollars to the fee based on quantity "expressed" or twitchiness of the patient? If the cat is tough to work with is it $32? What if the glands aren't that full? Maybe that should be $24?

Is the $28, really $14 per gland? Should this be a taxable service or illegal in some states?

And lastly, can get a coupon for a BOGO for next time?