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Dearly Departed

My foster cat is gone. He was rescued from being put down two weeks ago. During that time I've fallen in love with him. He's one of the most wonderful, charming, sweet, silly and chatty cats I've ever known. He's my poor Stanley, reincarnated. Stanley, the cat I only had for five short years, who died suddenly and unexpectedly from HCM. Stanley was the only cat I ever chose to be mine. He didn't find me. I found him...on Valentine's Day. He was proud and serene; a gorgeous, tuxedo Maine Coon. He was the one. The cat who all others would be compared with. He died almost five years ago. I still miss him.

A Touching Tale

Just when I think I've gone as far as I can to help animals in need, I find I can face new challenges and take it a step further. Whatever it takes, right? I've been caring for a 9 month old Maine Coon, who was surrendered by his owner a week ago. The owner said the cat had chronic diarrhea and he couldn't deal with it any more. He was also going through a divorce and his ex-wife felt the cat's soiling problem was a danger to their young son. The owner wanted the cat put down, which is where I came in.

One Less Cat.

It's been a few days. The emotions aren't percolating as badly, as they were on Friday. I'm calm enough to write.

Although the entire journey is going to be detailed in my Foster Cat Diary, the event, itself, sparked a question—an old question; one I never seem to understand any answer other than this:

The Lucky One

The answer is NO.

Barely Normal Activity: Attack of the Pooptergeist

I'm half awake or, half asleep, however you look at it. Either way, in my haze, I must tap into a vivid memory from last night. I was thinking about yesterday's BLOG entry. All the difficulties in getting my cats to eat something good for them and all that they suffered and all that I spent...well...I neglected to add one little thing about diet changes and the possible lasting or, please-God-I-hope-NOT-lasting side effects. The dreaded litter-bomb. The smell that shook the earth.

Why Your Cat is Fat, Sick and Unhappy

I just got back from a 2-hour visit with Dr. Larry. He's my Vet. I love Dr. Larry. He might as well be my own brother; the one I wish I had. I'm paying for his kids college education, considering my monthly tab at Maple Ridge Animal Clinic. I might as well be considered family!

This visit was for Spencer and Gracie. Barely two months ago, I brought them both in for a checkup. Spencer was viciously attacking Gracie and her daughter, Petunia. It was terrifying and upsetting. I thought Spencer was suffering from some sort of health issue and had to rule it out before I started working on possible (yet again) behavior issues.

What I found was that Spencer was simply STARVING. Yes. I said, STARVING. He was SO hungry, he was furious. To better vent his anger, Spencer went after the two most submissive cats. Don't #$*&@# With Me

The Birth of a Book.

It's said you're never more than 3 feet away from a spider. Even if you can't see them, they're there. Lurking. Waiting to crawl in your hair or suck your eyeball juice out. In my house, you're never more than 3 feet away from a cat. Even if you can't see them, they're there. Lurking. Waiting to crawl onto your face and try to hatch your head like an egg. It occured to me that instead of feeling distressed, I should take the challenges of living in an 8-cat family home, and put that PAIN into something worthwhile and possibly even funny, a memoir of my life with cats.


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