A few moments ago, I was standing at the end of our drive, waving the American flag at the over 500 bikers on their way to pay tribute to a slain Sweet Home soldier killed recently in Afghanistan.

Words escape me as bike after bike passed me, honking, waving, holding the thumbs up at this woman with a dog by my side, waving the flag back and forth while tears cascaded down my face. So many have fallen, so many have suffered and will continue to do so over this war that has stretched on far to long. I remember when the soldiers returned from Vietnam (even though I was still in high school) but I can remember them being jeered at and hated on. That never made sense either. And now, these same soldiers who were once mistreated by society are making sure it doesn’t happen again and that people remember the horrors of war and the cost that comes with it. God Bless them ALL!

She is furious. All night long we heard thrashing and crashing upstairs, the growls, hisses, moans and cries. I knew she was safe in her confinement. Not in a cage, but in the cat-room with an old sofa, and a beat-up coffee table marred with scratches from times past. There is an old rug that has comforted many wounded or sickly animal. She has food, water, a soft bed, boxes to hide in and a cupboard to take refuge inside, I knew that going upstairs would only further upset her, so I stayed away trying to ignore the distressing sounds.

My other cats were clearly worried. Several paced back and forth between a door we set up to block off access to the stairs, the door is easily removable, but it also is made out of the stoutest wire we can find to prevent being shredded by frantic claws. Her buddy, Muse even came in from outdoors, a rare occasion for him. He laid down for quite awhile at the foot of the stairs, calling to her every now and again as if reassuring her that all is well, and soon she will be released; once the infection is gone, the wound healed and the swelling vanishes.

It was with trepidation that I climbed the stairs this morning to greet her. As I opened up the bedroom door, it looked like it had snowed! The old couch that is as yellow as it’s age had been gutted. The stuffing was flung everywhere, I could see paw marks in the white fluff, as well as skid marks, as she decided that as long as it was down there, she might as well play in it!

I called to her quietly, and heard her low growling off to the side. Following the sounds, I peeked over the top of the couch and sitting crouched in the corner was this little once feral black kitty covered with white fuzz balls and threads. Scooting the couch away from the wall, I sat on the floor and talked to her quietly, trying to coax away those ominous growls with gentle persuasions. But, she was having none of that. Sometime earlier in the night, Cleo had rediscovered her wild ancestor’s traits and had turned into a ferocious predator- stalking the couch and the cushions, tearing up her adversary and releasing most, if not all of her anxieties and frustrations from her sickroom confinement.

This is the black cat that came to us over seven years ago with blood running from her nose, and a broken leg. She was rushed to the vet, where she underwent surgery and she spent five days fighting an infection that had settled in her lungs. When we got her home, she went on cage rest for a week, and then she was integrated into the rest of the gang and eventually released to join the feral colony on our land. She has spent the time happily running in and out of the shop, keeping the hay barn clear of mice and playing tag with the beetles and bugs, even fishing for minnows in our creek. She is captured once a year for shots, and out of all my cats, Cleo has been the healthiest until now.

I finally was able to bribe her out of hiding, and she came to me and slunk into my lap. I carefully stroked her, being sure to keep my hands away from her wound, but before we parted company I calmed her, then set to work cleaning up the room. She was feeling better because as I was sweeping up her cat-made snowdrifts, she was chasing the broom!

At the end of my visit, I left her curled up asleep inside the cupboard. She had been fed, loved and medicated. I would save the draining of the wound, until Pop came upstairs and could help me. Before I left, I did stop to apologize to Mr. Couch. After many years of faithful service, the only thing left for him was a trip to the landfill. Cleo’s angst had seen to that!

Yesterday, a car pulled up and this distinguished gentleman got out, took a wheelchair from the trunk and helped this lady into the chair, wheeling it up to the house. I was thankful we have a wheelchair ramp. He then went to the trunk of the car and started unloading goodies for the cats!

There was cat food, cat litter, cat beds and blankets and some cat toys.

It turned out that the woman adopted a cat from me over 19 years ago and Shasta recently passed away due to cancer. She wanted to thank me for giving her such a wonderful companion who kept her company when she was dealing with her own cancer issues.

She oohed and awed over the recent arrivals but said that her time here now is limited and she doesn’t think getting another cat or kitten is for her right now.

She took out of her purse a brag book and it was full of photos of her and Shasta and this little bottle baby that I raised for a few months, well, I got to see him grow up in front of my eyes.

I had to laugh at one photo, her son had smuggled Shasta into the hospital in his backpack while she was recovering from surgery. there she was, covered in tubes and Shasta lay snuggled in her arms.

We hugged and cried when we said goodbye and she wished me well. She asked me if she could do anything to help out! I looked at the mountain of blankets, the food, the toys the beds and told her she had done enough.

She said she had Shasta cremated and said after she is gone (she is on hospice care now) she wants their ashes put together and scattered in the same place. It was a lovely if bittersweet visit and even writing about it now brings tears to my eyes.

I am always so glad to be able to place these wonderful beings into homes where they are loved and cared for till the end of their days. The problem is they never live as long as we would like them to- but what they give us before they go could fill a treasure room.

and the house is full. I just helped with a rescue of a cat hoarder and added 8 more kittens to the mix here. That’s 13 neuters coming up what was I thinking?

Some of these kittens are maine coon crosses and they are so big and cute and fluffy. I haven’t even gotten around to naming them. They hit me of all a sudden with a phone asking me how many could I take out of 32 rescued kittens! I took what I thought I could handle- but I feel like I am in kittygarten right now- the house is crazy with activity.

The majority are boys thank God as the neuters are so much less for boys than spays are for the girls. Mike says we have wall to wall kitty carpet right now! LOL He is right. There are a lot of paws pittering around right now-

I went to their bookstore today and found an armload of cat books. I started reading All My Patients are Under the Bed by Dr. Louis J. Camuti- a cat only veterinarian who is allergic to cats. I love this book and I am not even into the third chapter yet.

If you take yourself to seriously, buy this book! If you need a smile, a laugh or a giggle, buy this book. If you want to learn some old-time vet tips for your housecat- buy this book. You will laugh- and I am sure in the end, somewhere within the pages, tears will be shed as well.

It rained today and most of the barn cats ducked into their feral cat beds that felinefurniture.com makes. They are so weatherproof and watertight. All I saw were eyes peeking out at me when I went to feed. They weren’t going to come out while the downpour was going on- what is going on with this strange weather?

My friend Dusty told me she took her digital thermometer and stuck it in the dirt the other day (she lives in TX) The thermometer stopped at 113 degrees Farenheit! I don’t think she liked it when I told her we had the heater on because it was cold.

It is supposed to get warmer tomorrow- but tonight it is calling for a chilly evening so I have turned on the electric cat beds. In August- go figure-

I may be able to harmonize on stage with a woman’s barbershop group, write a magazine article, bake a to-die-for homemade apple pie. I may be able to paint a picture of my cats, scrimshaw an ivory-handled pistol grip and mow five acres of pasture, but when it comes to outsmarting Chappy- I fall short.

Chappy is semi-feral. He has lived with us for years and it took months for me to take this little tuxedo kitten who was abandoned at a campground that had been closed down and work on his trust issues.

But finally, that golden moment occurred when he came out of hiding and head-bumped my leg and demanded I pet him. I felt like I had won the golden ticket! He is one of those cats who demands you rub harder and faster on him- he has elevator butt down in style and if you quit to early, he will gently nip your hand as if to say- “What are you nuts? Keep going!”

He comes out at night, usually after nine and for months he will sit with me and demand his rubs.

But now, he has hairballs and I have to give him some medicine to soothe his belly and pass the hair easier. So I very carefully laid the medicine on the table near the couch where Chappy visits and he suddenly decides that visits aren’t on the agenda right now. I didn’t see him for days. (Or is it nights?)

How do they know?

Last night, he came out and I carefully uncapped the medicine and reached down to the floor to pick him up and he fled! I gave him no indication that anything new was coming, no eye contact, just a casual gesture to scratch him and pick him up and he flew the coop.

So for now, I will have to deal with the hairballs he so very lovingly leaves in my fuzzy slippers and try to come up with a way to medicate this kitty without turning on his alarm bells.

Keeps me humble~

Due to my husband’s illness that first took hold of him during Christmas in 2004, I had no choice but to reclaim control of our diet. I hadn’t been able to change his destructive eating habits no matter what I did, and now he is dealing with the aftermath.

Since that time of cleaning out cupboards and trying to eat right, I have given up my greatest vice- chocolate.

I strayed off the path recently when a group of friends invited me out to lunch~ Here is my prayer of forgiveness:

Oh God, I am heartily sorry for straying back into the path of temptation. Thy path I strayed on is called Chocolate and the signpost in the road was by Oreo and so I wandered.

I very carefully twisted the sinful cookie desert to separate the creamy white filling from the cookie center. I then indulged in the decadent cookie and rich ice cream and now carry sorrow in my heart for sinning against the god of calories.

I promise as an act of contrition I will walk an extra thirty minutes tomorrow, even if it rains. Because I know that I have offended Thee, but Oh Lord, this sin when it melted in my mouth, the taste was extraordinary and in the midst of sinning, I smiled. Although my spirit was willing to stay on the good path, it turned out my flesh is weak..

I firmly resolve that by your good grace, I will sin no more~ at least not until after I finish the package of Hostess Ding Dongs that I bought on my way home. Not to mention the ice cream bars I stashed in the freezer (underneath the frozen broccoli and tofu). I told you I was weak!

I remain your humble servant~ and in order to avoid any more occassions to sin, I will from now on ignore the cookie aisle at the local grocery store and close my eyes as I walk through the ice cream section at the local Safeway.

Amen

I recently received this charming, whimsical ceramic pet fountain and I love it! The artist Eberhard Basler makes magic with every fountain he creates. What I love besides the nature scene on the lid is how quiet this pet fountain is- how well it works and how easy the upkeep on it has been.

The cats all love it- and instead of dismantling it to fill it up, all you do is lift the small drain on the lid and pour the water in.

It is a hit with the kittens as well as the cats- I am now a convert, no more plastic pet fountains for my crew!

The website is here

Totem is now gone. He went so fast we are still unsure what happened. Fever 108 and climbing-vomiting bile, pooping green stool with mucous all pointing to the liver shutting down. At only two months old it is baffling and I feel so out-of-sorts. I told the vet it was like he fell off a 30 foot cliff because he was fine yesterday.

He is now in the company of angels and Mike and I are both trying to work through the loss of such a special, wonderful kitty.

Last night, when I finally let Muddy out of his carrier in Robb and Oksana’s bedroom and I saw two faces light up in surprise and delight- this confirmed why I rescue.

When I think back to the day that Muddy arrived into my arms – and he was near-death; cold and wrinkled paws, cold ears, pale gums. Nothing on hand to bring him back to the world but me and my cup of exotic coffee. I carefully dropped drips of coffee (called a Mudslide) into an unresponsive mouth (using the typical straw that Buzz’d provides with all their hot drinks).

Stroking the throat of the kitten, I prayed that he would find the strength to at least swallow some of it. That the sweetness along with the caffiene would wake up organs that were starting to shut down, all the while muttering expletives at the person who left him to die. Then after some anxious moments of rubbing him with an old sweater I always carry in my car and wrapping him up tight- I felt movement in my arms. I blasted the heater full-bore and I raced him to the vet arriving just as they were opening up for the day.

He came back to us just as I pulled into the parking lot of the clinic and they wasted no time ushering him back, giving him warming fluids and telling me the coffee was the best thing I could have done. Muddy, the vet said was about 4 weeks old.

Well, looking at those two young people and the smiles on their faces, I knew it was all worth it. Muddy now has a forever home, and eventually, I know he will make friends with TJ the lab/border collie mix and these two newly-married folks will love on him and care for him.

He no longer will have to fight to get his favorite nap spot away from MK or wait patiently (or sometimes not) for Baker and Trump (my strongest alphas) to finish their meal before he can start without being kitty challenged.

I think of this morning when he wakes up on their bed in their spacious and clean apartment. He does not know clean- he does know clutter though! LOL. I will miss his chin kisses, his tentative searching of his paw at my mouth- almost as if he is saying- “Mom what actually is in there anyway? Any treats for me?”

All the worrying I do, all the praying, the maintaining, cleaning, scooping filling of thirty litter pans, the-round-the-clock feedings of the latest bottle baby arrivals, the 4:00 a.m. “MOM you aren’t awake yet?” wake-up calls by the cats- making sure all the food trays are filled and then washed after the cats are through eating. The juggling of household bills to accomodate the vet debt- the herding of the cats during flea treatment day, all of it becomes inconsequential when I am able to deliver such delighted smiles to people searching for just the right cat for their lives.

And thanks too to Fran Krieger of K-9 Homefinders- a dear friend who allows me to share her PetFinders page and list the cats I have who are available for adoption.

So one more goes out the door, and I am sure in time, one more will appear on my doorstep, or in my radar and this kitten or cat will need me along their way; in their journey of finding their own forever home.