I don?t know about you, but I don?t share my life with any cat who doesn?t believe that cardboard is a wonderful kitty magnet. No matter what arrives in my home, be it from the post office, Fed Ex or UPS, once the contents have been removed, the cats play for hours with the empty box until it collapses from exhaustion!

Recently, a new product has come to my attention. Created by Creative Pet, The Cube takes the simple principal of cardboard attraction and creates a sturdy, eye-pleasing cat condo/playhouse for your kitty?s enjoyment.

The product is lightweight and the instructions are easy to follow, however, some of the cardboard sections (16 pieces comprise one set) were probably not keen to become kitty sacrifices so they were a bit hard to assemble by myself. I had several claws into the action, but the arrival of hubby soon put the claws to rest and the condo was put together quickly.

This condo has been created to make your life easier, especially if you are living with a cat who prefers to be inactive. The countless escape hatches in the sections that you punch out at your preference offer your dormant kitty a challenge he can?t resist. Soon the cubes were alive with kitty and cat bodies popping in and out of each section.

The cardboard sections are sturdy enough to bear the weight of my largest cat- McKinley who is a Maine Coon mix and a whopping 22 pounds! He had no problem navigating the many hatches provided.

Because of the smaller sections of cardboard and how they are constructed- you don?t need to worry about the beginner set toppling over. If you wish to buy more sections and go higher, my suggestion is to be sure and stabilize the height because of the frenzy of activity the condo promotes.

For me, this condo is a godsend. Most condos on the market are made of carpeting, reinforcing to the cat that carpet is wonderful to scratch on. So far, the condo has been scratch free, again because of the smaller sections of cardboard. Cats tend to scratch tall objects.

Beginner Condo starts at $19.95 visit Creative Pet and put this cat lure into your home today!

This morning when I was talking to God, I told Him I have to believe that there is a purpose for my home to be bursting with kittens right now. Waking up, most people wake up to sunshine streaming into their windows, we wake up to a wave of blackness surrounding our feet.

Sinclair, one of the little boys loves to jump on my neck in the morning and snuggle into my hair. Shakespeare has a foot fetish. My toes need kevlar in the mornings to keep them safe from kitty claws and teeth. When he is finished vanquishing the enemy, he settles triumphantly on my foot causing my toes to go even number than they are already (I have tarsel tunnel in both feet)

Walking to the kitchen, black obstacles block my path. These furry gladiators are armed and ready for combat and fuzzy slippers- they are the conquest. As I move, small thumps are felt as the kittens launch themselves tirelessly at the prey that dares to come in their midst.

The floor is littered with black kittens ready to stalk and pounce as this is when they are in their element. Nothing is safe. If it isn’t nailed down, it must be prey!

Now, after the arrival of “Queen” Sheba, the kittens know something is afoot besides fuzzy slippers moving among them. Opening up countless cans of food for my clowder, my hope is to sneak upstairs and visit with Sheba, give her a few pets and the food she appears to love (tuna).

However, the kittens arrive before me. Go figure, these critters can navigate our narrow stairs better than me! Who would have thought?
Now the blackness settles on the stairs each one challenging me to dare to come up and give my attention to another critter. I look at the scene before me and decide to divert and conquer.

Taking my fuzzy slippers off, I toss one downstairs into the hall and step back to watch them scramble after it. Any laggers, I have another slipper to distract them and I am able to get into the room in relative peace.

I check the several food bowls presented to Sheba last night. Her Royal Highness has declined the Kitten Chow. The fancy feast is sampled but the tuna is half gone. Figures for a queen, she has to have elite taste. Ignoring the stacks of canned food I brought up yesterday, I return to the downstairs pantry and grab the tuna and a can opener. The blackness doesn’t bother me, they are to busy tearing into fuzzy slipper a sacrifice for the day.

I managed to pet Sheba on the head several times before she moved off. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t touch a new cat or kitten for several days until they decompressed and adjusted to their new world. But with her being heavy with kitten, so heavy her nipples drag the ground I have to push the envelope a bit.

She is not feral- I suspect either someone tired of her kitten antics and threw her outside where she became scared, lost and pregnant before she ever should be (not that she should be at all). Or, she is part of a litter of an abandoned queen and has a small set of social skills with people but still she does not trust the world that betrayed her.

I drape the futon with blankets to give her blackness of her own, for her darkness is security. I push tuna and water under the futon towards her and leave her till the next meeting at noon.

Outside the door, the black plague waits. Mom is inside and so their quest is to find out why. I manage to get out without letting the plague in- and wonder what is going to happen in the next few days when Sheba starts labor. I need to call my feline specialist and make her aware of the situation so she can stand by to help me.

I told God, I have to believe there is a reason that these critters come here. I have to trust that I will be able to provide for every need of these wonderful felines and that the end result means you won’t have to see me for the first time on the next episode of Hoarders!

The flood continues no matter how much I pray for someone to put their finger in the dike to hold back the tide.

This little one was dumped on us tonight. She is a beautiful, quite young gray kitty. I am guessing not quite 6 months old and she is very pregnant. I already know that there is no vet in the area that will spay her because she is due any day. I put her initially into the large dog cage, but she was so stressed out, I feared for her health. I have since put her upstairs. She is hiding under the couch up there and although I have given her several different choices of food, she is not eating. It is clear she is not feral just a product of an abandoned or neglected pet. Mike said with our luck she will drop 14 kittens! Heavens! I hope not.

The resident cats are stirred up with her arrival, but really what choice did I have? Someone dumped her and I am just supposed to ignore her very pregnant state. She looks like our Squirrel. Please God don’t let her give birth to pure black kittens!

My friend Steph emailed me the other day and she was so proud that her husband Toby bought her training sessions with a personal trainer for her birthday. Steph and I have been friends for over thirty years, and like me, gravity has caught up with her and she is fighting the battle of the bulge and combatting other struggles with her body.

Her email was full of all the rigors this trainer is putting her through. She said it was almost as if she was in boot camp, he was so tough on her.

I answered her wishing her luck in her new physical fitness training program, without reminding her of the countless gym memberships of the past that both of us attended with enthusiasm for a few months before our passes started gathering dust and cobwebs, including our membership at Richard Simmons Exercise Asylum- a bout with Spa and Fitness World and the boxes of motivational tapes from exercise gurus Jane Fonda, and others to numerous (or embarassing) to mention.

By the time I was finished composing the email, it was time for me to get busy around here.

The first order of the day- strength training consisting of lifting several 20 pound bags of dry cat food and pouring the food into the several feral feeders we have around the place. If you have ever wondered how many cups of food you can give your cat from these bags- I have the answer- you can get 45 cups of food from one 20 pound bag.

Our feeders outside are 33 gallon trashcans with tight fitting lids and small holes near the bottom so the cats can come and feed. Once the kibble is eaten, it is a simple matter of a kitty sticking her paw into the hole to dislodge more kibble, so keeping it full is always an advantage.

Now it was time to fill the water bowls. I use small buckets in the enclosure. I have them set inside a large truck tire, so the kitties simply perch on the side of the tire to get a drink from their personal pool.

Because our puppy Gretchen believes hoses are the best puppy toy ever created, I either have to carry water out of the house, or load up my wheelbarrow with several empty buckets and trundle out to the pasture to get water from the irrigation well. The agility of this exercise challenges me. I am running through rocky terrain, weaving in and out while balancing the barrow. I do not want to get a ticket for reckless endangerment because my wheelbarrow tire accidentally smushed the tail of Riley, Squirrel of the other curious barn kitties.

Once the buckets are full, my chest and shoulders begin to ache during the return trip.

Deep Knee bends are crucial when I am scooping out the litter pans. One problem I encounter during these sessions is the inability to breathe correctly while I am working out in this fashion. Understanding that deep breathing helps endurance and expands your lungs does not erase the damage done to those lungs when you are scooping out waste and disposing of the matter. Holding my breath becomes a better option, even on scrub the litter pan days. Dry litter dust is killer on the respiratory system. Sitting waiting in the corner for their turn are several 27 pound bags of stall dry. Hefting them up on top of the counter and pouring the contents down into the litter containers works pecs and biceps.

Keeping my back straight while Panda sits on my shoulder improves my posture. Who needs a book on their head, when you have an 8 pound cat riding on your shoulder while you are doing cat chores.

My big feet carefully navigate the path created by mulit-colored critters blocking my way. Everest perches on the overhead ramp, following me as I make my rounds. Executing head bobs keeps me safe from his playful claws. He loves to get tangled up in my hair and pull it off to the side. Perhaps a hair cut is soon in order?

Who needs a personal trainer? I have over a dozen. They work from scratch. By the time I have filled all the food bowls, brought in water, scooped litter pans, cleaned up the floor from the midnight preytime and rubbed each kitty’s head half a dozen times, I can barely manage to stumble into the house where I take a hot shower. The hot water soothes muscles stretched beyond their endurance. I know full well I need to rest up, because tomorrow, the routine will start all over again.

One of the surviving kittens of distemper has returned home. Sundance is an orange kitty who was one of four survivors from a litter of eight. He got out of the house somehow after recovery and vanished from sight. I looked everywhere I could think of for him, but couldn’t find him. I put up posters around town and finally just hoped that someone had taken him into their home because he is a kitty of color and orange kitties are desirable around here.

Tonight when I came home and drove up the drive, I saw an orange kitty sitting in the feral cat feeder in the tree. It was Sunny but as soon as I got out of my car and made my way slowly toward him, he had vanished down the tree and under the house.

He looks fat and healthy so I suspect someone did grab him and keep him, and he finally made his escape to come home. I just lent my traps out so I can’t trap him right now. I will continue to feed out there and hope that he remembers me enough to trust me to come in before winter hits. My heart is glad to see him- we have so many predators around- I had been afraid he had been a victim of a coyote attack. They leave nothing behind but a few hairs.

I don’t know about you, but I grew up with the mellow sounds of Peter Paul and Mary songs playing throughout our home from the record player in the front room. Although some believe that Puff the Magic Dragon personifies smoking pot, I prefer to think that it is a fanciful look at the innocence of childhood, and a little boy’s belief that dragons do fly.

I struggled at summer camp, teaching my campers to sing 500 Miles and stay on key. I dated a college man in high school and he serenaded me one evening on my parent’s lawn with Blowin in the Wind.

With everything going on here at the homefront, I haven’t been listening to the news or reading the paper. I was so sad to read that Mary Travers died yesterday of leukemia.

Her songs will live on, and this weekend, I shall venture into our attic and find our trunks which hold all our LP’s and 45’s. I will search through the vast collection until I find my cherished records of Peter Paul and Mary- and soon our home will be filled with the folk songs that spoke so deeply through troubled times and gave voice to causes this group took up as their own.

Tonight, the angels are singing sweeter than ever before, as I am sure that Mary is leading them in a rousing rendition of All Men Are Brothers~

I have been journaling since I was ten years old. Upstairs in the attic, are boxes and boxes of all my journals, my life as it were. It is my outlet, a way I can cope or make sense out of what is happening. Now, this blog takes the place of all those old school notebooks, journals, diaries and pieces of paper recording my history.

I laid in bed early this morning with kitties piled all over me and my thoughts were racing. We are hanging by a thread here, Mike and I. Although our marriage is as strong as it was 23 years ago, his Diabetes is sorely testing us. His hearing is now almost completely gone, and the expensive hearing aids we bought do nothing to restore his hearing. Thankfully, they came with a money-back guarantee or we would be in worse shape then we are now.

Our home that we have shared for nineteen years, well, there is a chance we are going to lose it. We are doing everything we can to save it and perhaps we wouldn’t even fight for it were it not for the cats. After all, where would you move after the bank takes your home if you have over a dozen cats?

Mike’s illness has caused a severe crimp in our finances. He is retired and we have his pension, but he is by trade a custom knifemaker, and he used to be capable of making knives that made your heart sing. Just an amazing man, who these days finds it hard to get out of the recliner and go into the kitchen to get his shot of insulin.

The other day at the vet the bookkeeper informed me that I can’t have anymore cat emergencies! Can you believe that? As if I plan on these kittens or cats to become so ill that I can’t help them here at the house. When I told the vet what she said ( I was really angry) he got even angrier and said he would “talk to her.” great, now I will have an angry bookkeeper sending me bills every month.

My friend called me the other day and they just got back from a cruise. I found myself wondering what that was like? To get on a ship and sail away from all your worries and frets, stuff your face, dance till dawn and not care that you have responsibilities and other aspects of your life waiting for you back home.

it has been ten years since Mike and i even took a vacation. We went back to my old home Southern California and I couldn’t wait to get back home to the relative quiet of our lives.

So life right now, as Mike and I knew it has changed drastically. The man I love is changing on a daily basis and I am watching the ravages of the Diabetes slowly eat away at his soul. He is defeated and tired, and I am weary and tired of telling him how sorry I am that I brought these extra kittens into our life when we had balance here at the house. But the alternative, I told him would have been horrific. How could I have turned my back on their plight? How could I have lived with myself knowing they were destined for landfill? He assures me that it will be okay, that God will provide and always have. We snuggled together while 8 kittens clustered around us, nibbling my hair, chewing his nose, kneading our chest, and generally making us laugh.

We may not have money at this point and time, but we have something I hold much dearer than that green stuff. We still love each other, we still laugh and enjoy each others company. He may not be able to hear me say to him that I love him, but he knows by my actions that I hold him dear to my heart. And that goes for every living creature under this roof. I may tire of kittens tapdancing across my keyboard, or scooping multiple litter pans and buying cat food on a weekly basis, but I wouldn’t change our lives for the world. And if they do come and take our house- well, I guess we will deal with that when it happens. Until then, I meet each day with a prayer and thank God that He has given me this incredible gift of being able to live among these strays and receive their unconditional love.

Although it wasn’t planned nor in the household budget, I had to take two of the dumpster kitties into the vet this morning. Both of them last night, quite unexpectedly collapsed in front of me. They were both hot to the touch when I picked them up. I put them both in the cage, applied rubbing alcohol to their ear flaps and toe pads and watched them through the night. In the morning, it was off to the vet. My thoughts were whirling- was this calicivirus even though there was no URI? Was it FIP? After last year, I take nothing for granted with small kittens.

BK3 had the highest temp of 103.9, the other kitten 102.6. The vet feels that this is a throwback of kitty play and we are dealing with kitty bites. Kitty bites don’t often abscess because the teeth are fine as needles, but they can spike fevers and become weak from a bite. I also did not know that they have lymph nodes on their legs. Bk3’s lymph nodes are swollen whereas BK2 is not.

The kitties are home and they are isolated in a room- but I am probably going to have to put them in the main bedroom because it is hot upstairs and it is not cooling down anytime soon.

The vet will be on call all weekend and I am to call her if they start sliding downhill suddenly.

7:20 p.m. Temps are dropping- 103.4 and 102.4 I have given both kittens clavamox and graduated them to the largest dog cage we have and put that in the bedroom where it is noticeably cooler. There is even room for a Drinkwell inside their cage as well as a larger litter pan. It was a bit of a hassle bringing in the cage from the porch but well worth the effort.

The other night at work (I always work the late shift 3-11:30 p.m.) about 10:00 p.m. I got this dreadful feeling in the pit of my stomach. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that something was wrong at the house.

I don’t know how I knew, but I did. I called, but Mike was asleep and he can’t hear the phone anymore (he is to deaf) plus the pills he is on right now knock him for a loop.

I couldn’t leave work as I was the only one there, so at 11:10 I took off. I wanted to speed, but of course a state trooper decided to follow me most of the way out of town. I get home, check on Mike, he’s fine, I check on the cats in the house, they are good. I still have this unsettling feeling in my stomach, so I go off in search of the outside kitties (there are 4) I find 3 after considerable searching and they are all good and happy to see me. I can’t find Chaplain though.

I head up to the house going on the back porch and before I get to the door, I stop. I hear cries of distress, very faint. The meows are unmistakable, they are Chappy. He is under the house and crying softly non-stop.

I grab a flashlight, beat it out to the side of the house where there are small openings- about the size for a german shepherd to get into, but not a person. I kneel down- of course it is pouring rain, and I shine my light and I see him sitting just beyond reach. He is semi-feral and the only time he ever comes to me is at night when I am laying down.

I check him all over with the light looking for blood, swelling distress anything. I see nothing out of the ordinary. There is nothing I can do until morning. I go back inside, and spend an uneasy night listening to his soft cries of distress (virtually non-stop).

In the morning, I throw on my overalls and grabbing a flashlight, I scoot under the house, no easy feat as I had to stay prone on my stomach and scoot underneath pipes and other obstacles. It was very claustrophobic.

I see him in the deep corners of the house, unaccessible to me. He is watching me, he is crying and he is not moving. The normal chaplain would be gone by now. He lets me get close, then moves off slowly. I watch for signs of limping, tenderness, I see nothing. His eyes are bright, there is no discharge from his nose, nothing amiss with his mouth. But he won’t let me close.

He has food, water and shelter under there. I have been under several times, each time he moves away. He is crying (I hear him now) We had a bad rain storm last night, thunder lightning, the whole 9 yards, it could be that storm has unsettled him, or he could have been in a fight with another animal and be hurt but I can’t get my hands on.

He is so trap savvy which is why he is still outdoors. I have even contemplated using a fishing net to grab him, but under the house on my belly- it would be so hard to manuever the net, plus it would scare him and if he got away, a distinct possibility, he wouldn’t even show up for days again.

I get so mad at this county. I already know if I call animal control, they would just tell me that it is my problem and deal with it. They don’t do cats at all. Even cats you have trapped, they want no part of it unless the cat is suspected of being rabid, then they are here in a heartbeat.

I gave him fresh food and water, set out pans of food under the tree in the hopes he will come out in the open and I can see him better and see if he is even eating. But I don’t know what to do and for four hours now, all he has done is cry virtually nonstop. I know something is wrong witih him, I baited the trap and slid it under the house, but I know he won’t go in.

I’m sorry I am rambling, I don’t have Mike’s help or we might be able to circle Chappy and drive him into an area where he could be caught. But again, there is limited room under our home, I have to stay on my belly and scoot and I can barely raise my head.

At this point after seeing him move freely from me, I am hoping it is just a matter of the storm spooked him and he hates the rain. It is pouring here right now. But cats hide pain so well and right now I can’t get my hands on him. Not while he stays hidden under the house.

The following morning:
I had to work a long shift today. When I got home the rain had stopped. He was under the house again as calm as toast. He ate the dry food I gave him, drank the water then backed into the shadows again. I cannot tell you how sore I am being under this house four times today. I can hardly move. My hope is he was scared of the high winds and the hard rain- plus we have a fire nearby which has unnerved all the cats. The rain was a welcome sight for the weary fireman battling the quartzville fire. He is quiet now. I will keep my eyes and ears open for him and hope that he is okay. He looks okay and moves okay, but I know from experience that they can really deal with a lot of pain and not show any discomfort until it is to late. I am afraid he got bit by a spider.

That afternoon

I JUST GRABBED HIM! And only by the Grace of God did this happen. He has never spent a large amount of time on our enclosed porch (we have two exits from the porch so the barn cats can come in and get warm in the winter on the heated cat beds.

We had a bad storm last night, and again, I heard him crying most of the night. I felt so miserable for him. This morning, I went once again under the house even though that was the last place I wanted to be. He moved away from me every time.

At lunch, I was in the kitchen fixing food when I heard him crying and it sounded darn close. I went out into the porch and following the cries, I located him on top of a shelf about 9′ high. He saw me, his ears went flat and he started growling.

I carefully made my way over to the sliding glass door and slid it closed. Then I went over to the window, dropped the ramp that the cats can access the window from and slid the window shut. He stayed put the entire time.

Then, it was a matter of playing cat tag as he evaded my reach everytime I tried to get him. I was talking to him softly but it was clear he was terrified. He finally got back up on the shelf, so I scooted a chair over, stood on the chair and talking to him softly, I managed to touch his rear end. He used to love butt rubs. His ears were flat and his eyes were narrowing and I knew it was now or never, so I took a deep breath, said a prayer shut my eyes and carefully slid my hand up to his neck and snatched him!

To say he was pissed is an understatement and he fought me wildly. I was so sad he is feral again. I got him into the house, and released my hold on him. He dropped to the floor and sped down the tunnel to the cat enclosure.

I didn’t see anything unusual when I was ducking claws and teeth- I am going to let him just decompress for a few days then start working with him again. He had gotten out of the house when we had the new roof put on the place and he has been outside now about 8 months. I have tried so many times to capture with no results. I think, me going underground to find him reminded him that I am his security and comfort and he came seeking me. Maybe I am wrong- it could also be that the weather is turning bad and he hates the rain and just wanted to be back in the house again. I don’t know.

Now, i know I will have to deal with a round of spraying as the resident cats adjust to the “new” cat in the house. But, that is just par for the course when you have multiple cats. HE’S HOME!!!

Amazing Moment

Amazing breakthrough Since Mike’s had his surgery and he has a clunky cast on his arm, I have been sleeping on the couch.

This morning about 2:00 a.m. I heard Chappy crying, so I got dressed and went out into the enclosure to be sure he was okay. He was hunched down in the corner just endlessly crying which broke my heart. His mom (Miss Dash) was nearby, she was overhead on one of the ramps pacing. She looked at me like “Would you do something please?”

I knelt down on the ground near Chappy but not close enough to threaten him. I just talked to him softly and told him how much I was glad he was home, how scared I was every night coming home, afraid to see him on the side of the road, or worse hurt by a wild critter or another human. I told him I prayed for him, and how frustrated I was that he was so trap savvy that even my best tricks couldn’t catch him. (Some people may think this is weird) but I truly believe they understand everything we say to them when they are in moments of high stress. I talked, he listened, then I went back in the house and fell to sleep but not before thanking God for bringing him back to safety.

About an hour later, I hear him crying again. He is right on the floor next to me. I slid my hand out of the covers and snapped my fingers (this is my kitty call for food and pets) Other cats ran over (of course) but I gently pushed them away and snapped my fingers again. Chappy came over. Even though it was pitch black, I knew it was him. I started petting him and he just went for it! He got about 2 hours of constant petting. I gently stroked him everywhere. The old chappy would have bit me after 10 minutes because he is stimulated by petting.

But this boy wanted more! There were head bumps and rubs from him and I was crying the entire time. I gently probed him as I petted him, looking for anything, a wound, a puncture, heat, swelling. All I found were cockleburrs on his tail. Cosmetically he is fine!

I finally had to tell him that I needed to go to sleep. I was so exhausted but happy. He jumped up on my legs and settled down. With my hand on his back both of us slept till dawn. When the sun came up, I woke up and he was gone, back to the enclosure.

I am always so amazed at the capacity of these cats and their trust. I wish humans had the same type of love and forgiveness. I was the one who didn’t latch the door properly when the workers went through. Chappy was one of four cats that escaped. He lived in a scary world for months because of my forgetfullness. Yet, now he is telling me that all is forgiven and the first step to the bridge of trust is again forming.

Yesterday, his appearance to me consisted of ears flat against the head, tail swishing, body low to the ground, eyes narrowed into slits and claws spread. He was in attack mode and I had to be so careful how I carried him or he would have sliced me open. Now, he is more relaxed after our petting session and this morning when I fed the monsters, he was out in the open on the overhead ramp just watching me. I knew if I moved toward him in the light, he would bolt. So I have an overhead feeder and I put the food there so he could eat by himself.

Mike’s arm is waking up and he is in substantial pain. During the first three days after his surgery with his arm completely numb, he would repeatedly hit it against the dog, the door, the window, me, the table, just because he couldn’t feel it and keep it upright. The surgeon warned me this would happen. I have some mighty purdy bruises right now! LOL

We did have a scare yesterday. Mike stumbled in the living room and pitched headfirst into a pile of sleeping kittens! I was in the kitchen making breakfast when I heard the worst squeal from a kitten ever. I race into the room to find the Black Plague scattering in all directions and several limping for cover.

After determining that Mike was okay, albeit a bit sore, I went about finding the injured parties (2 kittens) Piper and Salem. Salem was the worse of the two, unable to put any weight on his left front and rear leg. It took some finagling but I managed to get him out from under the bed. I put him in the big dog cage with all the comforts of home and let him rest. I did call the vet, but I had several doctor appointments scheduled that couldn’t be re-scheduled so I didn’t take him in. An anxious 24 hours later, he appeared to be just okay- doing a lot of sleeping though, so I took him in to discover he had a sprained rear leg and a sprained tail. Piper was just scared I think, she is fine today.

This afternoon, I opened up the cage, but Salem prefers to remain inside, so I am just watching him closely. Mike is not a slight man- he is diabetic because of obesity and this could have really been a dreadful outcome for the kittens. I am grateful that they are all still alive. I have seen crush injuries and they are not pretty, plus my vet is 45 minutes from my house.

The oral surgeon pulled my tooth, discovering that I have a rare thing going on called neuralgia. He put me on Gabapin and told me the pain will go away in about two weeks- yikes! I guess I just have to deal with it till the medication kicks in.

Never a dull moment- not in this house-

Those of you who have faith in God and are reading this blog, please send up a prayer for a cat in Canada I am trying to help long-distance. it is a long story but Miles needs to be sprung from Kitty Jail before they cancel his visiting pass and put him on death row. Why would they euthanize a 2 year old cat? Because he is scared, therefore he is aggressive, they are misreading the aggression as “feralness” and deeming him “unadoptable.” I have been networking to find a canadian who is willing to work with him in their home to get him over all his trauma. Hoping and praying for the best outcome for him.