Dictionary of New Terms

Well? What's the opposite of "Uplifting?"

Sheesh.

Today had some very big ups that I can't talk about right now, other than to say that there are some very interesting, exciting, joyful things percolating. How it all comes to pass, I do not know, but it's nice to have something to look forward to nonetheless. I don't mean to be a turd by keeping quiet, it's just, well, know that I'll tell you as soon as I can. Ok, you want a hint?

I can't. Not yet. Sue me. No, please don't sue me. I really don't want to be sued for teasing my readers!

Anyway, back to being miserable.

I HATE, HATE, HATE this part of rescuing cats. In fact, it doesn't feel much like something that can be described as part of "rescuing" a cat. That said, I know there are many who would disagree with me.

Our brave and tough-cookie Director came for Mama cat-Gabby this afternoon. It was time to remove her from her kittens, forever. Gabby will be overnighted in a trap, then taken to the Vet to be spayed, given her shots, ear tipped and a checkup while she's sedated. After a day of rest, she'll be taken back to where she was first trapped, a few miles from here. I'm not sure if she'll immediately be released or if she'll be in a dog crate for a few days. Regardless, she will go back to living her wild life, free from ever being knocked up again and free to live her life as she decides is best.

I hate separating Moms from kittens. So does our Director. It's another part of the "tough love" stuff we do. It makes me feel like guano, but I know I can't keep everyone together forever. Sooner or later the day will come. Here it is.

Mama went ballistic when we tried to get her into the carrier. I felt so bad. I know she was terrified. Ironically, with all her running around we finally got her into the big dog crate. She ran over to the end of the crate where I was standing and climbed up the wall. It was the first time I was less than a few feet away from her. Her eyes were dilated in fear, but all I could think of was how pretty she was, close up, and that it would be nice to have been able to pet her during the eight weeks she's been with me.

Our Director got her packed up. The room was a disaster. I'd removed the kittens before we even started so they wouldn't see what we were doing. When I returned them to the room, after I'd cleaned it back up, they seemed nonplused and went about playing with their toys. I'm guessing they'll notice something's wrong, but I snuck out of the room before they could do that. I just don't have the heart.

Even though she was nasty and she'd hissed so many times, her "hisser" was barely functioning, I still feel sad. I'm sorry we had to do what we did, but weighing all the options, this was the best choice for her. As with all my fosters, I wish her a safe, happy, joyful life. Her caretaker and his wife will look out for her and make sure she's fed. A week from now she'll be lounging in the grass, enjoying the taste of freedom and because I've got Jewish and Italian heritage, I'll still feel guilty!

Barely twelve days ago I took in four kittens. They've been living in my bathroom/laundry room and for an hour or two every day I let them into the adjacent hallway so they have a chance to get in a good run.

I'm impressed by their endless enthusiasm for play time. They run, jump, attack each other, climb up my front, back, legs, until I look like I tried to escape over razor wire at a Federal Women's Prison.

Even though I've blown through an entire tube of Bacitracin, in this short amount of time, I've fallen in love with the little buggers. Each one is special and I must admit I'm jealous of whoever gets to adopt them.

Twitter, is a quiet, friendly kitten. She's also a dead ringer for the first foster cat I took in over 15 years ago. She loves to play.

Angel is brave, bold, big, beautiful, with a quick purr and a sweet cry, whenever he knows food is being prepared. He loves to sit on my lap, then use the higher vantage point to jump onto the other kittens.

Fluffy, you complete me. I'm a sucker for tuxes and not only are you a fine tux, but you've got the sweet and silly personality to match. I love to watch you run. You have awesome fluffocks (butt fluff) and you crack me up. I think your name isn't good enough for you. I hope your new family calls you something more fabulous. Not that this IS fabulous, but for some reason I want to call you, Molly.

Lastly there's Tweetie. The cute fellow who looks like a celebucat, Sockington, and who is responsible for my wee website to actually get more than 40 hits in one day. Tweetie, I've seen you slowly come out of your shell. You let me pet you. You even purred. You even seemed to like it. Sadly, it may not be enough. I did try to convince our Director to let you stay here, after you're neutered tomorrow, but she has to evaluate you and if you don't pass muster, you'll go back outdoors.

I don't want to say this as a death sentence for you, but it hurts because I see your heart and I see you try, but deep down if you just had to live with humans and no other cats, I think you might be terrified and unhappy. I hope we get lucky and find an understanding adopter for you, but it has to happen in the next few days. Whatever happens to you, you won't soon be forgotten.

While I won't miss the mess that will take a good day to clean up and I won't miss having to move a blockade out of the way to do a load of laundry, I will miss the little 2.5 pound Masters of Mayhem.

It's been a pleasure knowing you and I wish you all a great journey and a happy, wonderful life.

Wow. Bob is a new cat!

Was the dental surgery, which included removing two of his few teeth, the reason for his almost joyful expression when I saw him this morning? Or was it the fact that his anal glands had been emptied of "Thick, Pasty, Yuck...a double-glover for sure;" according to Super Deb, who either watched Dr. Larry do the deed, or was stuck having to do it herself.

What I don't understand is that of the three cats who've "been expressed," only ONE of them showed any symptoms of needed anything done. This bothers me. How am I to know if they're feeling uncomfortable, walking around with big, fat, gooey glands? I read that high fiber diets help clean them out, but that would only be due to making heavy duty turds that would push against the glands and clean them out as the poop passes.

Once again I will say, CATS ARE OBLIGATE CARNIVORES so FIBER is OUT. I guess I'm going to have to invest in rubber gloves or get used to paying an extra $28 for every wellness visit at the Vet.

Bob's got that "I just got my glands emptied, faraway look."

So, where was I? Oh yes, Bob's glands. They're empty. He's happy. I swear he was smiling, but that may be due to the fact that I was about to feed him. He had a brightness in his eyes, almost a sparkle. For such an old fella, it's remarkable to see. Regardless of what's making him look so un-Bob-like, it's worth it.

And no, I have NO plans of doing "home anal gland expression." I draw the line at washing their asses when they have "chocolate chips" (my term for bits of shit) stuck to their behind.

If you're nuts and want to know more about anal glands, check this nifty, rather obvious link: Anal Glands, The Movie It needs a 3D animation and some whoooshing sound effects, but you'll get the idea, anyway.

And if that didn't satisfy your hunger, you can read this article which has a sneaky plug for a product that's supposed to help clean out the not-Fun-bags. Not sure I believe it works or is necessary, but the rest is helpful. More Anal Gland Fun

So when in doubt, SQUEEZE THOSE BAD BOYS & EMPTY THEM OUT...

...By a PROFESSIONAL and please don't do this at home and if you do, don't tell me, especially if I'm ever invited over to eat dinner.