I am a Deck Diver. Now, some of you may be wondering what in the heck a deck diver is, so let me explain. If the occassion presents itself (as it did earlier today) I will put on my diving outfit; long pants, double socks, thick long-sleeved shirt, thick soled shoes and leather gloves and cap and with nothing more than a towel and a cat carrier, I will take several deep cleansing breaths and plunge underneath a deck, or a home in search of a cat or kitten in trouble.

Some people who watch me do this, stand back and snicker and whisper that I am nothing more than a “crazy cat lady” but that is a subject for another time.

Being a deck diver brings about many challenges; how to get cobwebs out of my hair, or how to effectively duck under webs so as NOT to get spiders in my hair. How to handle the taste of dirt, skirt around objects sometimes shoved under folks home, and where to find the cat or kitten in hiding and not surprise a skunk instead- been there done that- hurled for days after!

This afternoon, my deck diving netted me 4 bottle babies (mom had long vanished) they are only days old and are no longer crawling with fleas.

Is there room at the Inn- no- not hardly. But I have sometime before their physical presence is felt in the house. I will be standing in line the first of the month for spay and neuter certificates (you can buy them for $20.00) at a local shelter- and I will add them to the neuter list here. Last time I was there- they were only giving out two apiece. Before, they gave out 4- but I will get as many as I can and go from there.

So I am a Deck Diver and these are my new treasures- any one care to help me bottle feed? You can take the second shift!

Wonton- A Cat tale told in Haiku is absolutely delightful! Author Lee Wardlaw takes you through the colorful life of a shelter kitty who is paired up with a special little boy (who it turns out is no match for this cat). Illustrator Eugene Yelchin’s eye-catching illustrations adds to the magic in the prose.

If you love cats, this book will let you in on the purr-sonality some cats possess. It is a smile from beginning to end (with a surprise ending) I might add- oh and although this is a children’s book- adults will probably hiss and spit if you take it out of their hands before they finish it!

Order here

Trying to recover from a 24 hour bug and the house is pretty cold. It hailed this morning in July! I didn’t want to turn on the heater, so I put my powder blue Nike sweatshirt on for more warmth.

McGuire jumps on my lap and turns around. He suddenly stops- backs up and almost falls off my lap. Then he turned into a hairpin spitting and hissing and staring at my chest.

I watched him for a few minutes as he attempted to dance around my lap (not that much room) He never broke his stare at my shirt. I thought I had a spider on me (I hate spiders) so I was a bit freaked out at his behavior. But when I looked down, I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

This spitting and hissing kept up and finally it dawned on me. He was spitting at the check mark on my sweatshirt. The Nike logo.

To test my theory, I pulled the shirt forward right where the mark was and sure enough, he spit and hissed and leaped off my lap. LOL

He returned seconds later claws out ready to do battle and lunged! I was quicker and managed to scoot sideways and avoid being bit. Silly kitty. He kept up the war of the Nike mark until I covered myself up with a blanket and then he curled up and went to sleep. Mike looked at me and laughed and said it was a shame we didn’t have a video camera.

Scary stuff, this Nike trademark.

It’s a pest I detest and the kittens seem to know I am not up to par. They started piling on me late last night and by this morning- I was down with it. The purr-pile-up seems to help and I already know resistance is futile.

The dusty blue pick-up truck rattled down the lane. The truck wheezed and lurched, making such a racket, that I almost wished I was wearing earplugs. But the noise, so offensive to my ears, was music to the colony of cats that lived on this farm. They came out quickly, some were slipping out of the shadows of the barn, and others were peering out behind rusty pieces of farm machinery. Although it was a hot windless day, I could see the long grasses in the pasture rustling, as the cats came on the run to greet me. By now, they knew my feeding schedule and were accustomed to the noises my truck extruded. I pulled into the space by the main barn, eased off the clutch, stepped on the brake and the truck shuddered gratefully to a halt.

Directly in front of me I saw a moving carpet of color. There were over twenty-two cats in this colony that I maintained, and I watched, fascinated as always, for when the tortoise-shells, the calicos, the tuxedos and the rest of the barn cats, all came together for their food call, their colors weaved in and out like an intricate kaleidoscope of colors. The cats were jockeying for the best position they could find to get first dibs on the food.

In the back of the pick-up were several thirty pound bags of dry cat food, large gallon bags of organic catnip, and pieces of freshly caught trout wrapped up in newspaper. Zeus, a large black, sleek neutered male, the patriarch of the clan was the first to leap up on the hood of the truck. He padded softly over to the windshield and bumped it once with his head, as if to say, “So are you getting out or what?” Grinning, at his typical attempt to control situations, I opened the door to greet my Catnip Colony.

Funk, one of my favorites, came up and head bumped my leg. She is a small-boned, orange and gray, long hair. I had tried to catch Funk for over two years. She had been the wiliest of all the ferals to trap. Before I had successfully trapped her (I finally in desperation used catnip for bait) she had delivered a total of sixteen kittens. Some of her offspring were with her on this farm, and they had grown up with her on this 45-acre feral haven. Now she was spayed, and could enjoy a long life with this colony, without adding to the population. I reached down to pet her, then turned to the task of wrestling the bags of cat food out of the pick-up truck. Trying to carry the bags into the barn, without stepping on cats was always a challenge. No matter how hard I tried to avoid it, it seemed like I would always step on a tail or two inadvertently. This time I was fortunate, I did not hear any indignant meow of pain as I performed my duty.

As I eased down the last bag, I heard a familiar voice overhead. Seth Johnson, the owner of the farm was pitching hay from the loft down to his cattle. “ They got me about ten mice this time Mary Anne!” He yelled enthusiastically. “Done cleaned out my grain bins but good!” He gave me the thumbs-up sign, and then turned back to his task in front of him. I smiled, with the satisfaction of knowing these cats were certainly earning their upkeep. All of them were excellent mousers. But Zeus was the king mouser, supplying the most kills, even surpassing the females, that were supposed to be the most intrepid hunters of the clan.

I poured the first bag of food into the feeder, added a bag of catnip then mixed it well to blend the contents. Opening up the slot on the side, the mixture poured down into the platform. This familiar rattle brought more cats into the barn, and I moved quickly on to the next feeders so they all could feast and there would be no possessive food fights breaking out.

I had started adding organic catnip as a food source for wild cats about four years ago. I used to mix the worming medicine and the pastes into the food, when the colony would get wormy, but the medication was expensive and I wasn’t quite sure the cats that needed it were really getting it. Because rodents are notorious for carrying tapeworms, and rodents were a large part of a barn cat’s life, I felt like I was constantly fighting an uphill battle.

Then I met Dr. Lee, a veterinarian who specialized in feral care. He told me about the benefits of adding organic catnip to the food, to provide enough fiber to keep the gut moving and push the parasites out. Dr. Lee also warned me against using this method with domesticated cats, because the only thing that did was create finicky eaters; cats who wouldn’t eat unless catnip was in their food. He also strongly cautioned me to use organic catnip because the regular type oftentimes had pesticides mixed in, and since the cats would be ingesting the catnip, it would be wise to be sure they were getting a safe blend. Since I started feeding the way he instructed, all my colony cats have been in optimum health, and I sure didn’t miss those high vet bills either!

By now my thoughts had automatically carried me through filling the last of the four feeders. My job here was almost done. I set out the pieces of fish on the floor of the barn for the cats to enjoy and backed away, standing by the door. The sun beat down pleasantly on my arms and back, and in the quiet of the afternoon, I could hear the sounds of kibble cascading down to the feeding platforms and deep-throated contented purrs filling the air. Now, that was music to my ears.

Tonight on the news they said a hoarder’s home caught fire and I had a sinking feeling that I knew what home- Turns out I was right- and three cats died in the fire-

Here is the video: Hoarder’s home

She stood beside me with paper-thin, stringy hair and dingy clothes. At eleven years old, this little girl, born of poverty and despair, carried misery in her eyes. I had been told of her history prior to meeting her and listened aghast as the details of her life were unfolded before me.

She lived with her mom, her dad and sisters in a three-sided cabin up on the mountain. No plumbing, no electricity no heat. The children slept on hay loosely strewn on the ground covered with blankets. The parents when they were home slept on a ratty old mattress on the dirt floor.

When her father did come home, Elle would run to the forest and hide in a “special place.” No one knew where that place was. They all looked for her from time to time without success soon giving up the search.

Once her father would leave, she would come out of the forest and take her place once again with her family.

Elle was considered a “high risk” child. Chosen out of seven other people to be her mentor, my assignment they told me was to find a common bond with her.

So now we stood, across from each other, sizing each other up. I spoke first introduced myself and motioned we should probably sit down. Awkwardly I managed to lower my 6’ frame into an elementary school chair. She sat opposite me watching my actions closely. When I slid a wrapped package across the table towards her, she eyed it suspiciously as if it was a snake and would bite her.

“What is this?” she asked.
“It’s yours Elle; it’s a present, go on and open it.”

Hesitantly she picked it up and tore a corner of the paper. I had never seen a child so in control when in came to unwrapping a gift. I wanted to reach across the table and rip the paper off for her, but I restrained myself.

Finally she finished her methodical stripping of the wrappings and before her sat a brightly colored journal. Her eyes lit up in surprise and she stroked the binding in wonder and whispered, “Is it really mine?” I assured her it was and handed her a pen. We spent the first hour together easily after that for the ice had been broken. I had found her passion, which she shared with me. She loved to write. She told me about all the forest creatures and spoke of the trees in the woods near her home as if they were her friends. When I asked her why she spent so much time in the trees, her response tugged my heart…”Trees don’t hurt me,” she whispered.

The next week when we met, she asked me to help her write a story. She wanted to write about an eagle’s nest she had found in the mountains. The nest was empty, but she wanted me to help her fill it with life in her story.I told her I would be honored then set about recieving special permission to have her come visit me at home.

She and I sat side-by-side as I introduced her to my computer. She dictated the story, while I typed it. Elle presented a story full of imagination. Throughout that session, she began to open up more to me. Surprised, I learned she had never been to a mall, or a theatre! She spent all her spare time at school in the library reading through stacks of books. After we finished her story and printed it out, I asked her if she would like to go see a movie with me. Her eyes lighting up with delight she agreed. Lion King was playing at the mall in Eugene, so off we went.

I could live to be one-hundred and I will never forget her face when she first glimpsed the mall. It was a combination of a child’s first sight of Mickey Mouse at Disneyland (where I used to work) combined with the look on a child’s face when they rode their first bicycle. Overcome by the grandness of the interior of the mall, she wanted to look in all the shops. Hand in hand we raced into one store after another as she wanted to see everything. Hard for me to grasp that this child had never even seen a mall. At first I thought she wanted to just lead me to believe she hadn’t been, but her wonder was to genuine and my heart broke for her at what she had missed.

As we weaved in and out of the stores she suddenly became quite shy and shrank against me. Puzzled, I looked down at her and saw that she was close to tears.

“What’s wrong?” I asked her. Elle looked at me, then at the people milling around, and trembling she pointed a shaky finger at her faded dress, the socks that came down around her ankles, to large for her and the rest of her hand-me-downs. I suddenly understood, she was ashamed of her appearance.

Forgoing the movie we went shopping. She tried on so many clothes I thought they were going to throw us out of the store. But when I told the sales lady quietly about this first outing, there were suddenly racks of dresses and pants and shirts for her to try on. She finally settled on a sea-green top with flared skirt, and other items of clothing little girls must have. I also allowed her to pick out something for her two sisters and her mom. She refused to get something for her dad. Then we took a quick trip to the car stowing the treasures away for her sisters. She was wearing what she had picked out for her, along with the necklace she had chosen for her mom. Then we went into the theatre and she watched her first motion picture, and filled up on popcorn and soda. A very satisfying day for me and a day filled with magic for her.

She would tell me later that when her father returned home that night, he took all the new items away from his family and threw them in the river. She fled to the forest and hid till he left.

In the four months of our friendship, this little one opened my eyes to the innocence of a child. She would sit on the ground in my garden and spin stories about talking trees and flying bushes, or sit on the stoop and read out loud to the animals. A break-through day was her inviting me to her house and after I got there she led me carefully to her secretive safe spot in the forest. Carved on the trees that surrounded this place in a sort of protective circle were her renditions of my horses, cats, dogs and myself. I was honored that I touched her heart, for she certainly had touched mine.

One afternoon waiting for her at the school, I was called in to the principal’s office. I admit to having butterflies in my stomach as I hastened toward the office door. Once inside, I was told some sobering news. Elle’s father had spent the day before sharpening his knife the entire day and telling his frightened family that once the mom got home, he was going to kill not only the mother but all of them! I was stunned, and fearful I whispered “Where is Elle?”

Elle, the principal explained had run from the house, but instead of heading for the woods, she turned and ran for the road. It was dark and her mom was due home any minute, she had to save her.Thankfully she found a caring stranger who called the authorities. The father had been arrested, and the mom was gone, taking all the children with her. No one knew where she was and it was likely I would never see Elle again. I walked out of the office on lead feet and sat in my car and cried. For the loss of the innocent young girl who was denied the basic comforts of love and a solid family and even all the extras that so many of us tend to take for granted.

When I got home, there was message blinking on my machine. As I clicked play, I heard a child’s voice whispering. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, so I turned the volume up and listened closely….”Tell the garden good-bye..” Elle’s voice quite tearful said. Then there was a click, she had hung up.

Every year since in the summer as I plant a new garden, my thoughts drift back to this waif of a girl who blossomed under love and laughter in my home, and my tears fall on the waiting seeds under the soil. My heart aches for that little girl who would sit so patiently in the midst of the lettuce, radishes and onions, weaving her stories of escape and fantasy. I don’t know where she is now. I hope she is in a better place. I hope they grow gardens there.

This morning there was quite a commotion in the cat enclosure. I could hear items being knocked over and cats running around. I looked out the window and saw them all chasing something within the enclosure. It was a shrew- poor thing. I ran outside to see if I could possibly save it when it ducked underneath the introduction cage.

The cats immediately circled the cage and paws began to search for the elusive rodent. The space is so narrow, I had nothing I could slide underneath it to try and snag the shrew and carry it to safety. Hopefully, it will stay under there until the cats’ noon meal then beat feet out there. It’s been raining pretty hard here (rare for this time of year) and it is still a bit cold. I am sure it came in to get warm without realizing what it was getting into! I need mice detour signs outside I guess.

A farmer down the back road has been in contact with me. He wants two barn cats. Normally, I would jump at the chance of letting my cats get a new home, but this man is a stone’s throw away from my house. I put any cat over there, and the first time they get a chance, where do you think they are going to head back to?

So I have contacted another rescuer that I know of to see if she has any mousers for him. I am going over there later to see his set-up and talk to him about what he actually needs.

Today is the day of the seizure of the hoarder’s home. I hope it goes well and she will relinquish her cats willingly. I suspect otherwise, but I hope I am wrong.

Turns out that the cat who is eating on Betty’s patio isn’t the one I adopted out. Although they could be brothers. But this cat has grey around his neck, and McKenny has a white ruff.

I talked to another cat rescuer last night, Cimeron saves cats near San Francisco and she made some good points. A lot of time is going to go into finding him (and it is a bit like looking for a needle in a haystack) and that time can be better spent helping the cats here, writing or helping Mike.

I think what drives me is guilt. I generally do home checks when I place a cat, but this woman had adopted from me before and I didn’t check out the situation like I should have.

Looks like I just need to let this go and hope that McKenny has found a safe place to sleep and good places to eat. The upswing is, all these rural folks, they all feed cats and they all like cats. So if he does or he has come to harm, I am sure it is not from humans but other factors.

It is raining this morning and the kittens are full of spit and vinegar. I brought down some interactive toys from the attic to amuse them in the hopes that the kitty fights will cease. They are just learning their role in the world and the older cats are showing them when things get to rough for the elders amusement.