This little girl was left intentionally on a cold cement floor to die, because it kept “crying” and the woman wanted to hit it in the head- sigh….
It was rescued by a kindly neighbor who is trying to save this tiny life and she stumbled across my kitten-rescue website and emailed me.
Such a tiny life to be so compromised by an evil woman. I hope she makes it- the woman she is with now is loving and caring and doing all she can to have that happen.
An anniversary is coming soon. I’m not sure why I feel led to share this. I have kept it hidden for a very long time…~
I don’t tell this story often. In fact, even after the incident occurred, I kept the details to myself for the longest time not even sharing it right away with my husband who adores me.
When I do talk about it, I wonder what the person who is listening is thinking. Images of a white truck roaring up my driveway, the doors of the truck flying open and two men in white coats with sedatives and a strait jacket racing out and kicking down my door to drag me away, fly through my mind. This image often stops me mid-sentence and I weigh my words carefully as I relate what I happened or what I remember
…
I had just returned from a vigorous horseback ride on my mustang Racer. We had stopped in front of the barn so that I could dismount and not have to carry the saddle a long way to the tack room. It was late fall in Oregon. Storm clouds were gathering over the Cascades. In the distance, I could hear the drum of thunder.
Suddenly without warning, the wind picked up. My neighbor Joe had leaned a large aluminum extension ladder against a century-old evergreen. The wind picked up the legs of the ladder and it fell with a crash to the ground below. Simultaneously, the pasture gate opened and slammed against the staying post. My right leg was just about ready to touch ground when Racer startled by the noise bolted!
Instead of vaulting off him and landing safely in the dirt, I tried to remount him. I remember hanging off his neck, my legs dangling and my arms clenched fiercely around his neck. Then he reared and I fell. My head hit the pile of firewood we had neatly stacked in the yard.
I succumbed to the darkness…
…
The light was bright but it didn’t hurt my eyes. I felt warm as if someone had immersed me into a nice soothing bath. I couldn’t yet focus; the light seemed to envelop me like a fog making visibility poor. What I could see, in the distance, moving towards me without making a sound, a figure. The figure appeared to be floating not walking. My mind couldn’t make sense of it. Where was I?
As the figure came closer, I saw with clarity, a shock of red hair. I gasped; this figure was my son Jeremy Ryan!
Born June 25, 1975, he was eighteen hours old when he died. But here he was, extending his hand to me, fully grown-up and handsome. Tall like his dad, and sporting red hair which ran in my family.
“Jeremy?” I whispered. “Is it really you?”
“Hi Mom and welcome! We only have a short time. You aren’t staying yet.” He smiled and the area around him lit up. He extended his arms around me in a hug and tears welled up in my eyes.
“We aren’t alone you know” Jeremy said with a smile. “You have friends here!”
I suddenly felt furry presences head bumping my legs. I didn’t dare take my eyes off my precious son, but I knew beyond a doubt that those head bumps were my cats long passed on! I even knew without even looking which cats they were-
Smudge, our darling calico, found at 3 days old, near frozen in the snows of Alaska. Brought back to life slowly and living for 8 years with us sharing multiple adventures until some low- life stole her out of our driveway. As we attempted to give chase, Smudge jumped out of her kidnapper’s car window and was killed instantly.
Gulliver, our gray tabby that loved to travel and was an excellent mouser. He was 9 years old when he made his last journey, over the Rainbow Bridge.
Hissy, the feral kitty, she loved only me and had developed a habit early-on (being a bottle baby) of placing her paws up on my legs and kneading them while crying to be picked up. This was exactly what she was doing now.
While Jeremy and I talked, more cats came out of the light and joined the first three. Doing rescue work, concentrating on abused and abandoned cats and kittens, I see more death than most. But they all were there waiting for me and wanting me to know that they continue on.
I wanted to stay, there in the bright light surrounded by creatures that I had been devoted to and a little boy, now a man that I missed out knowing in life. But soon, Jeremy told me I had to go back. He gave me a message for his dad, kissed me softly on the cheek, held my hand and then he and the cats just faded away.
I cried out and woke up in the Emergency room. There were several doctors nearby looking concerned and I could see my husband Mike at the doorway, his hat tightly clenched in his hands.
My head was pounding, my mouth was sore and bloody (I had bit my tongue).
“You’re back!” a nurse said. “Welcome back!”
One of the doctors went over to talk to my husband. “Mr. Miller, your wife just woke up, she is quite the survivor!”
I slowly looked around the room at the faces now beaming at me. I could see the bedside table, the clock on the wall, the IV bottle dripping overhead. Yes, I was back, and according to my son, I still had much left to do here.
It’s time to get busy…
This week has been one of emotional turmoil and re-discovery. To many events in just a matter of days has turned my heart upside down. It is as if I have lived a month in only a few days.
I worry a lot. I always have. I suspect because of feeling I will never live up to what certain people expect of me. I worry about Mike, I worry about the cats, I worry about stuff I shouldn’t even concern myself about. What I need to concern myself about is my relationship with God. In a book I am reading there is a simple quote at the front- “To me, Faith means not worrying.” John Dewy an American Philosopher said this in 1952.
So it is back to basics. Back to the core belief that Someone Higher is in charge of my life even if it seems to be in tatters at the moment. It is the beginning of a big step of faith for me as I leave a job I am no longer comfortable with and seek something else- whatever is next.
I was talking to an author friend of mine last night. This woman is amazing. She pumps out books by the dozens. I asked her how she does it? I told her I am doubting my work, wondering if there is any value in what I am writing here- doubting my ability to deliver a guidebook for people wanting to take stray cats into their home. She told me “This is my mantra- write first, doubt later.”
So that is the mantra I now pick up. Continuing on even in the face of rejection. After all, JK Rowling was rejected by twelve publishing houses before she got published. Not that I have a Harry Potter gem in my future, but I believe that what I am offering is important to the cats left stranded out in the streets and the people unsure of what to do about them.
So it is onward and upward on bended knee with a renewed faith in God that propels me forward. I will be scared at times, and probably doubting myself to a certain extent because old habits are hard to break. But I hope that in the end, the results will be positive and my worry factor can be placed on hold permanently.
What a surprise (I’m being sarcastic here) I was mowing the back pastures when out from under one of the sheds, I see this white form streaking by. She is a gorgeous momcat (I saw her again when I wiggled out from under the shed)- pure white with a black triangle on her head, on her nose and over her eyes, she also has a black tail. I stopped the mower and something told me to grab a flashlight and take a look under the shed. There I see three gorgeous baby kittys probably just a few weeks old. A white one, a golden one and a mackeral tabby. Mom has pulled down some straw from the shed (there is a hole in the floor) and made a nice nest for them. Right now, I am just going to leave them where they are. I placed food for her in the shed and water as well as some kitten chow. I don’t have any room for any inside kitties at the moment. The upstairs is going to be unbearable soon due to the heat so they are better off where they are. She looks healthy, the kittens look healthy and once they are weaned, I will capture them and take them inside and get mom spayed. That’s the plan anyway.
While sorting through some old photos the other day, I stumbled upon a picture taken on my sixth birthday. There is a lawn party being thrown and my friends and I are decked out in our finest frocks. (They called them frocks back then). I recognize Marcy sitting on the lawn next to me, her dress as frilly as my own. Our hair done up in identical ringlets the result of sleeping the night before with uncomfortable curlers pinned to our hair. Our Mary Janes are sticking out underneath the multi-layers of chiffon and lace. Marcie and I go way back, best buds since second grade when John Sutton used to chase us all over the blacktop waving his retainer in the air. If he caught us, he would kiss us, then stick his retainer back in his mouth and go off and play stickball. EWWW! Did we really do that?
Back in the day, walking to school was safe. It was an event a group of us would gather each morning outside of one house and grouped together walk to school.
The only predators back then were the crows insulting us from the trees and the yappy small dogs who would charge fences if we came to close. Riding the bus was unheard of unless we were going on a field trip. School lunches were served hot every day-not the best food in the world but there was no fast foods on those trays. My favorite was taco day. The only Crack we had to worry about were the cracks in the sidewalk that we stepped over carefully (so not as to break our mother’s back).
Coming home, first on the list to do were chores, then homework. Then we had to set the table for dinner and wait for Daddy to get off work so we could eat together. After dinner, we would again gather and play a quick game of kick-the-can or hide-n-seek or statuemaker. We all knew we had to be home before the street lights came on.
How times have changed…
This movie based on the events behind the disappearance of two 14 year old North Hollywood girls will chill your bones. It is the type of movie that if you are a parent with a teenage girl who has a webcam- you need to see this movie. But, in the same breath it is the type of movie if you have a teen girl with a webcam you shouldn’t watch it.
It will be released on Tuesday and I am afraid that if you do watch it the images will stay with you a very long time. It shows pure evil, Internet predators and how the most popular, richest teens can be sucked into the dark spots of the Internet.
I’m blogging about to say I hope you watch it if if applies, and I am also hoping you don’t.
Ok on to a lighter note now, I received a phone call this morning from a gentelman who adopted five cats from me a few months ago. I let him have some of my core kitties; Riley, Charlie, Cole and Stryker because he wanted good mousers for his barn. Well, my kitties have captivated his heart to the point that they are now living in the heated garage that attaches to the house- it is a 20 acre ranch house in Salem. He spends a lot of time reading with the cats on his lap in the garage. I am so thrilled because although they are suited to be good mousers, they really did live inside more than outside here. His wife recently passed and I know these cats are companions to him and will help him in his grief.
It’s always nice to hear from the adopters and find out the positive side of these cats, because even though all applicants are screened carefully, you never know if you have made a mistake after you drive away.
This morning, I was relaxing in my easy chair upstairs, drinking my coffee and trying to collect myself for the day when Serena (now renamed Cheyenne) jumped on my lap!
At first she growled at me but I just kept breathing, after all, she had gotten up on her own accord. When I kept my breathing even and deep, she settled on my lap!
This is the first contact we have had since she arrived over a week ago. I have discovered that after removing all the mats which she had, she will shrink away from being touched on her back, just duck down quickly and walk away. No elevator butt for this girl, she growls if you try. She does like to be rubbed on the chin and the ears, so as we sat there bonding and I was rubbing her, I was wondering what her story was all about?
Who tossed this beautiful girl away like she was rubbish, and why was the first kitty rescuer so desperate to “get rid” of this dilute calico?
We enjoyed about a 15 minute bonding time when suddenly she growled, leaped off my lap and vanished back into the closet.
Oh well, it was sweet, sweet, sweet while it lasted. I don’t know what her story is, but her new chapters of her life begin for her now.
Help save some stranded feral cats in New Jersey by donating whatever you can for this necessary relocation.
Labeled as “dangerous, diseased, bird killers” these cats are living on borrowed time. No amount is not enough- not caring is unacceptable. To many cats get tossed aside into the waste heap. Don’t let these survivors follow that path.
When I receive these cats who have lived through horrors unimaginable. It is hard to fathom how ANYONE can get into hurting, tormenting, torturing these lovely felines to the point where they look at all humans in their world with distrust and aggression.
I couldn’t step in between that aggression that she carried, no matter what I did. Going from passive to aggressive in the blink of an eye with no warning was downright scary. If my grandkids had been here, it could have escalated into something pretty nasty.
But to have her live on the very edge of that terror? What drove her there? What demons nipped at her heels created by someone in her past that abused her to that state? I just want to find that person and press them against the wall until they can’t get their breath, then throw them in a deep hole and leave them to find their own way out. So what does that say about MY dark side? That I could actually do harm to someone who is abusing a cat. It makes me no better than they are in that respect.
She was such a pretty girl- would have been easy to place had she not been damaged goods.
Years ago, I got between a man who was beating his german shepherd with a chain. I stepped right into it and found strength I didn’t know I had and managed to get the terrified dog away from him. We kept Kenai for years and after working with her for a few months, she turned out to be a loving pet and an incredible protector of me. I was at a gas station getting gas and was outside the car. A man was harassing me (He was drunk) He went to grab for me, and she had been sitting quietly in the back seat but when he grabbed me, she lunged through the open window and stood between us. She saved me that day, just as I saved her long ago. I just wish- oh how I wish that I could save them all.
The reality of rescuing abused cats and kittens is that some of them are broken to the point of no repair.
This morning, Brooklyn launched another of her attacks out of thin air. No one was around her (but me) I was on the computer and she was sleeping when suddenly she woke up and glared at me. I caught her glare thought “Uh Oh” and pushed myself away from the keyboard. She launched at me, claws outstretched making horrible yowls and screams- I threw my bathrobe over my head, she landed on my head, scrambled down my back and went on to try and attack Mike.
I took off my robe, threw it around her, grabbed her up and put her in a carrier. I then called my vet and he has agreed to put her down.
I hate that I had to do this. I can protect myself, but my husband is vulnerable at this stage of his disease and she was a danger to us and to my cats. Sometimes, what they suffer before they come to a place of peace can’t be reached, bridged or fixed. It is unfair to ask a cat to live with this type of torment coursing through their body. To have one so aggressive one minute and so passive the next speaks to neurological damage or genetic defects and makes me wonder if they were beating her with sticks not her carrier?
Brooklyn I am sorry I couldn’t get between you and the terror and offer you a place where you could grow old and be loved. At least, you had dignity in the end- something not afforded to you in the beginning of your life. I just hope when the vet gives you that peace, you don’t take a piece of him with you. Sometimes these cats are so broken, there is nothing in this world that will fix them.
