Open Hearts, Closed Hearts

 

     The other night at a meeting, I heard a woman talk about the difficulties of being a caregiver (I believe she was a nurse who works with children.) She said her perspective is that, in the face of suffering, she has one fundamental choice: she can protect herself by closing off her heart or she can keep her heart open, do the best she can, and then turn it over to God. I think there's great wisdom in that, and I try to apply it to my own work with ferals.

      Lately a couple of sad situations have come up. The day after Christmas I got a call from a woman who works at a business in A.G. She has been seeing a cat who, from the sound of it, must either have terrible skin cancer or some kind of severe facial wound. From her description, it sounds as though the animal needs to be euthanized as soon as possible. I've been trapping in the area where we think the cat is but haven't had any luck. Then last night it rained so I didn't trap. This morning the sun was coming out, so I went over again and put out a trap, but so far, nothing. All I can do is hope and keep trying.

       There is another tragic situation in Oceano. A friend of mine had a friend who shot himself to death the day after Christmas. As if this weren't horrible enough, he left behind three cats, one of them a special needs cat, in the house that he totally trashed before taking his own life. I went over there with my friend looking for the cats a couple of nights ago. A clean up crew was there. The house was filled with shattered glass, broken furniture, complete chaos--everything reduced to rubble. We glimpsed one cat but were unable to catch it. My friend left two traps that night, but when I returned the next morning, all I found was a possum and a neighbor's cat, both of whom I promptly released, of course.

      Now, a couple of days later, one cat has been found, another cat named Lucille (whose special needs made her virtually impossible to adopt) has been euthanized, and a third--who has a home waiting for it--is still free-roaming. This is a terrible end not just for the individual who killed himself, but for his animal companions, who have no way of understanding or coping with the complete chaos into which their once peaceful lives have been thrown. How terrifying it must have been for those cats when their person was destroying the contents of the house, when the gun fired and then all was terribly silent. All they could do was escape out the broken windows and wander around, trying to find their way back to the home they'd known which now no longer existed.

      In all likelihood, the third cat will remain in the vicinity of its home--it's being provided food and water, of course--and will eventually be rescued. In the meantime, all we can do is the best we can.

       And while this is going on, the usual trapping situations need addressing. I was alerted to a feral colony over in Avila Beach that is being fed and cared for by an animal-loving couple. They cannot afford, however, to have all these cats spay/neutered, so I'm trapping over there. Caught two the first night, then didn't trap because of the rain, but will be back there tonight with a couple more traps. It will take some time to get everyone, but this isn't mating season, so we have some time.

      And things seem to be leveling out at the Mesa. Perhaps the free-ranging dogs that were eating the food out of the feeding stations for so long are being kept home now--I hope! Anyway there was food left at the feeding stations when I checked them yesterday.

      So this is just a little recap on what's been going on with my cat trapping efforts over the holidays. This time of year seems to be particularly painful for many people and that pain filters down--to their companion animals and to feral animals in need of care. At any time, but especially in difficult times, keeping an open heart is a challenge, but I remind myself the alternative is far worse.

A Kitten Named Braveheart

        The first time I saw the little black kitten who lived in the woodpile was late last summer, when I was trying to track down the various members of a litter that had apparently gotten dispersed up on the Mesa. I don't know what happened to Mom--maybe she was killed by a car or a predator, maybe she wandered off. One of her kittens was rescued young and ended up living with my next door neighbor. Another one (I suspect, although I'm not positive) is probably my own Little Dude. A couple more were trapped inside a garage and went to Christine's house to be fostered until they became less feral.

        But this kitten, who had taken refuge in the woodpile next to a high wall dividing two half-acre properties, proved impossible to catch. Not because it wouldn't be trapped (although I did try a couple of times with no luck) but because The Feline Network was swamped with kittens last summer. We literally didn't have a single foster home where this kitten could go if I did catch it. I remember seeing the kitten one afternoon when another volunteer and I were in the area scouting for a likely spot to put feeding stations. We saw the kitten dash into its hiding place among the logs. I remember how my heart sank. How could such a small kitten possibly live on its own without mom?

        Throughout the fall, I took food up to the Mesa kitties two or three times a week, always leaving food and water next to the woodpile, but I thought the kitten had probably died. Sometimes I'd leave a whole bag of food and every single bit would be gone the next day, a sure sign that dogs (which seem to run wild on the Mesa!) or raccoons had eaten it. Then the nights got cold and it rained. I almost gave up leaving food by the woodpile, because I honestly didn't think the kitten could have survived.

        But I kept bringing food whenever I could. A couple of weeks ago I saw a furry black, much larger kitten dive into the woodpile as I approached. It was the same kitten! A neighbor told me that she'd heard an owl crying and circling over the woodpile--not surprising, since kittens and young cats often fall prey to owls. I decided I had to trap this little one and get it out of that woodpile as soon as possible.

       I called the wonderful woman who runs a refuge for feral cats in North County and, with my fingers crossed, asked if she had room for one more. She did! That was the first step.

       Next I put out two traps by the woodpile Monday night. I said a prayer: Please God let this little one enter the trap. The next day at 6 a.m. I was out there with my flashlight checking the traps. The first one had been cleaned out but wasn't sprung. The second one held a furry black five-month old kitten!

       I rejoiced! I took the cat to the Feline Network vet, where I soon learned it was a female and negative for feline leukemia ( a prerequisite for acceptance at the refuge.) That afternoon I rendez-vous'd with T.C., the woman who runs the refuge, up in Atascadero. T.C. likes all her kitties to have names. I told her this gal's name was Braveheart, because she had earned it. I can't imagine how a tiny kitten survived for months living alone in a woodpile, with limited food supply, cold and rain, and animal predators, but she did it!

       Now a resident of the feral refuge, little Braveheart will live out her days with plenty of food, warm igloos filled with straw for shelter, and a protected environment with other cats like herself. Hopefully, in time, she will make a friend or two and realizethat life has gotten inexplicably better.

       When I look at the pictures that I took of Braveheart  when she was in the carrier, I can see how afraid she was. At that moment, if her mind worked like a human mind, I'm sure she'd have given anything in the world to be back in the 'safety' of her familiar woodpile, however dark, cold, lonely, and dangerous it might have been. She had no way to imagine the incomparably better life that she was headed toward and all the many people who had worked together to make it possible. Our human lives are so much like that, I think. So often we desperately fear and resist change, all the while that unseen forces may be at work on our behalf.

Re: Little Dude's Medical Crisis

       As some of youknow, The Little Dude is a feral kitty rescued from the Mesa area, in Arroyo Grande, CA, in late August of this year. Destined at first for the Adopt-a-Pet, I came to realize he was definitely a part of my family and nixed the idea of any adoptions a few months ago--Little Dude had found his forever home here in Pismo Beach!

        I always knew the Dude was an unusual, seemingly fragile kitten. He had bouts of hobbling around as though unable to use his hind legs well. He never jumped up onto anything, but used (and continues to use) pet stairs that my neighbor generously gave me to access the bed and the sofa. Dr. Conn's first guess was that he might have something called Kelesi Virus, which causes pain in the back legs but generally is outgrown within a short time when it appears in kittens. But Little Dude's symptoms have gotten no better, so we made another trip to Cat and Exotic Care on Monday, this time to begin extensive testing, including blood work, x-rays, testing of the joint fluid, and testing for FIV and Feline Leukemia.

      The results, though as yet incomplete, are not promising. On the good side, the Dude is negative for both FIV and FeLeuk and, somewhat to Dr. Conn's surprise, there is nothing really wrong with his joints. They appear intact. But he shows three healed fractures in his back and front legs that indicate some kind of congenital bone disease--something perhaps akin to osteoporosis. He's Calcium deficient--no surprise there given his bones--and there's a good possibility his thyroid may not be functioning properly. Some of the test results have not yet come in and I'm awaiting further information.

       It's discouraging to say the least.

       As far as having a kitten with a strange, undiagnosable medical condition, this is the second time it's happened to me, which as Carla at Cat and Exotic said this morning is "like getting struck twice by lightning."

       About two and a half years ago, I was incredibly blessed when Sister Bug, a tiny feral kitten whom I fostered along with her brother and sister, miraculously recovered from what had appeared to be a very serious health threat. Basically, she was unable to poop and had to be rushed to the emergency vet a couple of times to have her system cleared out. At one point, Sister Bug was on three different kinds of meds twice a day just to keep everything moving along. And even after all kinds of tests, there was no clear indication of what was wrong with her!

       Then, almost overnight, Sister Bug 'outgrew' her problem and has been a perfectly normal, healthy cat ever since. I was praying the same would happen with the Dude, that his difficulties would turn out to be Kelesi Virus or something else he'd outgrow. This time it doesn't look like that's going to be the case.

       What it comes down to, I guess, is all I can do is the best I can. I'll do everything I can to get the Little Dude the best health care, to remain comfortable and content, and make sure however much time he is allotted on this planet, that it's as pleasant for him as it can possible be. Beyond that, it's up to God.

       Knowing how fragile he is, I'm more grateful than ever that Little Dude is part of my feline family. This is a very tranquil, quiet household where the older cats are generally tolerant and laid back--when Little Dude shoves his little head into a food bowl where someone else is eating, I'm always amazed that the other cat invariably backs off without so much as a hiss. They are touchingly tolerant of his tendency to be obnoxious around eating.

      So that's it for now. I will provide more updates on the Dude's health situation later on.

 

       And on a very positive note, this morning was the first time ever that, when I visited my Mesa feeding stations, there was still plenty of food in each one. I saw the black kitten that lives in the woodpile scamper away--he/she is alive and well, but I need to start trapping for him soon. Like next week. A resident told me there was an owl cruising around in the area of the woodpile the night before. I feel so sorry for this little guy. What must it be like to be growing up all alone, living in a woodpile for shelter on these cold nights. But today, when I was there, he had food, water, and an abundance of warm sunshine, so that is reason to celebrate!

A Good Day For Goldilocks

       More good news from the cat front!  About three weeks ago, I trapped a little orange female, about four months old, up at the Mesa. Because she didn't seem completely feral, I tried to find a foster home for her among the Feline Network volunteers. When I couldn't find anyone, I set her up in the spare bathroom here at my house. Within a very short time, she was sitting on my lap, purring, and lapping up the KMR (kitten milk replacement) that I gave her as a special treat.

        But there was still the problem of what to do with her. Nobody had room in the foster homes and I'm going away over the Thanksgiving holiday. My wonderful petsitter, Anna Stuart, would be coming in twice a day, but that still didn't seem like enough attention for a cat only just getting used to dealing with humans.

        Then Anna called and said she'd found the little girl, whom I've been calling Goldilocks, a home. A wonderful, animal-loving woman had been looking for an orange female--and solid orange girls are hard to find. Most orange cats are actually male. Today was the Big Day for Goldilocks. Anna came and took her away in a carrier, along with a toy mouse and a can of KMR to remind her of her foster home. I know she will do great in her new situation as she wants nothing more than to sit in her person's lap all day and that is what Anna says this lady is looking for.

       I wish Goldilocks could understand how lucky she is. The Mesa is not a good place for cats during the best of times, and we've just come through a weekend of torrential rain and cold. In all likelihood, Goldilocks will have a long, happy life in a home where she is valued and loved. I wish all animals everywhere could have homes like that, but it still makes my heart sing to know that Goldilocks has found hers.

Re: Good News For One Feral

 

     So often rescue work with animals is filled with sad situations, so I rejoice when something goes unequivocally right!

      For literally months now, I have been trying to trap a small calico female who is the litter mate to two orange kittens I trapped ages ago. (They are semi-tame and are living with Christine, the founder of Feline Network). But this calico female always eluded me and, in the meantime, she has grown to the age where before long she'll be having kittens and making a bad situation much worse. Not only that, but this cat makes her hideway in an opening at the back of a small house in AG. The opening leads to

an area of plumbing fixtures of some type and an old bathtub, where she takes refuge. The owner of the house is adamant about not wanting the cat in that space. As soon as I trap her, the plan has been that I am to tell the homeowner and he will board up the entrance to the only shelter this little cat has ever known.

     So all this time that I've been trying to trap her, I've also been agonizing about what am I going to do with her. Normal procedure would have me return her to where I got her, but at that point she would have lost her 'home' and the property owner is not interested in feeding her. So I admit that, while I've continued to trap there, I've not been too unhappy when I continue to fail to catch the cat--since I leave out food for her and she has her makeshift shelter.

     Late last week, though, through a series of coincidences, I made contact with a woman who runs a feral cat sanctuary north of Atascadero. She was willing to take some semi-feral cats from Feline Network, but the person fostering the cats in question changed her mind for various reasons and that deal fell through. Then this morning--after so many attempts--I caught the calico! Immediately  I called the wonderful woman who runs the feral habitat. I will be meeting her up in Santa Marguerita this afternoon with the calico cat, now spayed with her shots, in a carrier to go to her new home at the habitat. It is a large, enclosed area where ferals live out their lives in peace. She will have ample shelter, food, and safety from predators--three options totally unavailable to her in her former circumstances.
      I am so grateful to the Universe for making this possible, for the timing that had the little cat walk into the trap at the one moment  when a new opportunity had actually opened up for her future. Thank God, she will never go hungry and she will have plenty of warm, hay-filled enclosures in which to cuddle with other cats. She will never have kittens, and predators, human or animal, will not bother her. At the moment, as she sits in the carrier on my porch recovering from her spaying procedure, I am sure she does not consider herself fortunate and would love nothing better than to go back to the only home she has ever known. If only she knew the bigger picture!

      I wonder how often I--how often all of us--are like the little cat, unaware of the bigger picture and oblivious to our incredible good fortune!

Re: On Grieving the Loss of Animals

     Recently I wrote about the loss of my 15-year-old cat Twinky, who died at home, with the help of her veterinarian, on October 25. Since Twinky's body was obviously failing, I guess I had thought the pain of losing her would somehow be mitigated by the relief of knowing she would not experience suffering. I'm thankful she had a peaceful and pain-free death, but that knowledge has done little to blunt the grief I feel at her loss.

      Twinky always sat at the end of the sofa in my living room. Every time I come in the front door, my eyes automatically go to the sofa--which is empty now--and I am reminded once again that she's gone. Every morning for the last four years I (or the petsitter if I was out of town) gave Twinky her medicine for high blood pressure; every month of so, I would call up the lab in Paso Robles and order another bottle of her meds. Now every day in which that familiar ritual is no longer enacted is another day in which she grows farther away from me. At "treat time" in the evenings, Twinky--who was blind--would be the first to appear in the kitchen, waiting expectantly for her portion of wet food. When I tossed out dry treats to the other cats, I would tuck two or three under Twinky's paw, so she could immediately find them.  At night, as soon as I got into bed and called her, Twinky would jump down off her spot on the sofa, come into the bedroom, hop up on the bed and stretch out against my back, with her head and paws in my hair. I still can't get used to sleeping on my side, knowing I will never again feel her furry warmth as she snuggles against me or hear the soothing music of her purr. I know that now I can rearrange the furniture with impunity or relocate the food and water bowls if I choose to, because my other cats are sighted. In her later years, Twinky found it difficult to squat and sometimes would end up peeing over the side of the litter box onto the floor. I got her a couple of special boxes with high sides and -- just in case--- placed them on top of a tarp covered with plastic trash bags so even if she missed, it was easy to clean up the spill. I took those away the other day--my other cats don't need them.

      Twinky always enjoyed going out into the fenced backyard, but sometimes she indicated she wanted to go out into the front yard by standing at the front door, looking expectant. I'd let her go outside, but always go out with her, since the front yard isn't fenced and she could easily wander out into the street. I was careful to never leave the side gate open, since she could have gone from the safety of the backyard out into the front unsupervised. Now the gate can be open all the time--it doesn't matter.

     When she was sighted, Twinky terrorized the other cats--she was alpha to the core. Even after she lost her sight, she continued to instill fear--I once saw her carefully locate the position of another cat by listening, turn slowly, then lunge with amazing accuracy at her intended prey. On another occasion, I came home to the horrifying sight of Twinky almost at the top of a twelve-foot high cat tree, looking around in some distress as she tried to figure out how to get down. I plucked her into my arms and put her back on the terra firma of the living room rug. To my vast relief, as far as I know, she never ventured up there again.

       I could write on and on reminiscing about Twinky, her adventures, her spirit, her tendency (probably due to her Siamese blood) to grumble and growl over anything that met with her disapproval--and those things were legion!

      But the point of this entry is to say that I have been unprepared for the depth of the grief I feel. It's a lethargy, a profound lack of appetite for dealing with the day to day demands of the world. Twinky shared my life for fifteen years. Now her life is over and a chapter of mine is irrevocably closed.

       In her mortality, of course, I see my own and that of every animal and every person that I love.

       Yet even as I mourn her, I  look across the living room and see the Little Dude cavorting in a paper grocery bag from Trader Joe's. He rolls around, sticks his head out, dives back in, crinkling and crumpling the bag, finding in its brown, oblong interior a toy more fascinating than any PetCo toy or catnip mouse. Everything is new and amazing and wonderful in Little Dude-Land, where Now is the only moment there ever was or will ever be.

       So I grieve for Twinky but I celebrate the gift that is the Little Dude. I wish that I could learn to live with his enthusiasm and only hope that I can die with a fraction of her equanimity and grace.

           

     

     

Remembering Twinky

     Twinky, my beloved cat for fifteen years, passed away at home on Monday, October 25. The vet and vet tech came to the house, and they were wonderful, giving Twinky a shot first to sedate her before the second, final shot, was administered. She died in my arms, wrapped in a blanket. Her body was taken away to  be cremated and returned to me. I had agonized over the decision to end Twinky's life that day. She was still eating, but the fluid in her abdominal cavity--after having been drained once the previous week--was building up again. The vet said that, for it to build up again so fast, the situation inside her must be very bad. So I decided to let Twinky go while she was still relatively comfortable and not in any pain. Would that it could be this simple for humans.

     Twinky was with me through four major relationships, one of them a marriage, and five relocations, four within Colorado and the last one out here to Pismo Beach. She knew the moment I got into bed and would come into the bedroom, jump up on the bed, and sleep nestled up against my hair. Being blind for the last five years didn't daunt her a bit.


Twinky resting on one of her final days




Enjoying the sunshine





Little Dude keeps her company

           I feel that twice I almost lost Twinky and twice God returned her to  me. The first time was when, as her foster mom, I foolishly decided to put her up for adoption, thinking that I should adopt an older cat more in need of a home. When I realized I had made the wrong decision, I hurried down to the Boulder Valley Humane Society, only to find a couple in the process of adopting Twinky. I was devastated. I remember sobbing all the way home in my car, saying "I'm so sorry", both to Twinky and to myself, for having been so oblivious to how much I wanted her in my life.     That was on a Friday. On Monday I called the BVHS to tell them they needed to remind Twinky's new people that she needed to continue her medication for the  infection that had already cost her an eye. To my amazement, the woman said, "But she's still here. The adoption didn't go through." Needless to say, I rushed back to Boulder and adopted Twinky, so grateful that I (and she) had been given a second chance.     The second time I thought I'd lost Twinky was one of the most painful episodes of my life. I was married and my husband and I had decided to spend part of the summer in Michigan, even though we'd just moved into a new home in Mead, CO. The cats were in the habit of going outside, so I insisted to the petsitter that they be allowed to go out, even though they were now in a new neighborhood with an unfamiliar person coming to feed them. That decision was completely misguided and unthinking on my part and I have regretted it bitterly. I would never leave any animal alone in new surroundings now or allow it access to the outdoors for at least a month.     Within a couple of weeks, I found out that Twinky and another of my cats, Puppy, had disappeared. I flew back to CO to search. I started sleeping out on the back steps in case one or both of them came home in the night. I remember waking up and hearing Twinky meow. She was standing right there. Before that moment, whenever I'd heard or read of somebody who'd pinched themselves to see if they were dreaming, I'd thought it sounded silly. How could anyone not know if they were awake or asleep? But at that moment, I honestly wasn't sure. I just remember thinking that if this was a dream, if I woke up and Twinky was not really there, I would die. So I dug my nails into my arm and I picked Twinky up and she was real.     The joy of being reunited with Twinky was, of course, only matched by the guilt and grief I also felt over Puppy, who never came home. I don't know if he and Twinky left together or separately, or if Twinky went with him on some journey that only she was able to return from. But once again, I felt that God had given her back to me.     I have been blessed and privileged to have Twinky in my life. When I walk in the front door, I still find myself looking at the spot on the sofa where she would invariably be sitting. When I call "treat time" I still expect her to be the first to show up. Knowing this will never happen again leaves a great emptiness. The house doesn't feel right without her, and I wonder if the other cats are aware of her absence. She was a beautiful, sweet soul and will be terribly missed.

Birth and Death

        I've been writing about the addition of a new kitty to the family, Little Dude from up on the Mesa, who is about 3 months old now, full of life and energy.

        Sadly, at the same time that a new little one has come into my household, another life--that of my beloved cat Twinky--is fading out. Twinky is about 15 years old now, which the vet said is about the average life expectancy for a cat. She has been through a lot of adventures in her life, and I'll write about that later. But right now, Twinky is dying and it's my job to find the right moment--not too soon, not too late--to help her make her exit from this world.

        Back in August, when she went in for a check-up, the vet noticed she'd lost a couple of pounds. Since Twinky loves to eat and has been on the chunky side for years, this did not seem altogether bad. Except there was no explanation for the weight loss. The vet did an ultra-sound and determined that her spleen looked abnormal, so another test was done, something called a fine needle aspiration, where a few cells are removed from the spleen via an ultra-thin needle. This last test showed cancer.  At the same time, other things were looking bad--like many elder cats, Twinky has kidney and digestive tract issues.

       Twinky is also blind. She lost one eye to infection as a young kitten--that's how I came to be fostering her for the Boulder Valley Humane Society in Boulder, CO--and lost the second eye to glaucoma, caused by undiagnosed high blood pressure about 5 years ago. She's adapted wonderfully to her blindness, gets around the house and the fence-in backyard just fine. But because of her blindness, a trip to the vet is even more stressful and frightening for Twinky than most cats. I did not want to continue with invasive procedures, such as having her spleen removed. Also, I have gone down this road with several cats and two dogs, and I truly did not think removal of the spleen would save Twink's life or prolong it.

      All this was maybe a month ago. Since then, I've been giving Twink whatever she wants in the way of treats and canned food and she has seemed fairly normal, although clearly losing more weight. Then a few days ago, things changed. I noticed her sides seemed to be swelling out and knew, from past experience, that this might mean fluid retention.

      I had a hard decision to make. This morning, early, I'm going to do my best to get Twinky to take a small dose of kitty valium hidden in wet food. I don't know if she'll take it--cats are very sensitive to something in their food--but I will do my best. Then an hour later, I'm doing what I'd hoped I wouldn't have to do--taking her back to the vet to see if they can drain off this extra fluid and make her more comfortable. Due to her blindness, Twink hates and fears trips to the vet more than most cats. I have to weigh the benefits of her seeing the vet versus the stress of making the trip.

      I've been with many animals during their dying process and I will be with Twink up to the end of hers. I've already arranged with the vet to come to the house when the time comes. At least that way Twinky can be in her familiar, comfortable surroundings.

      Watching an animal die, especially one who is so loved, is excruciating. Knowing when the time has come is a heart-wrenching decision.

      I have a friend who once told me she felt she waited too long to let go of one of her animals. Now she says, like a mantra, "Better to be an hour too early than a minute too late." I agree. I don't know if today will be the day--I hope not and I don't think it will, I think Twink will come home. But I really don't know what the vet will say about her condition. If the fluid retention turns out to be blood instead of water, then that would mean something else.

      In the meantime, I can only do my best to make the right decisions on behalf of this wonderful, loving soul.



Twink lounging at home



Perched in a cat tree



Twink, 'the Lioness'

       

The Little Dude Finds a Home!

      A while back, I wrote about picking up a kitten from the Mesa area, that part of Arroyo Grande that seems to be teaming with kittens and cats. This one had been caught by a homeowner. She put him in a carrier on her porch and I swung by and got him. He's the one I called the Little Dude. As the weeks have gone by, Little Dude has become more and more a part of my family, learning the ins and outs of household life here. Due to one thing or another, he also has kept missing opportunities to go to the Adopt-a-pet, which is where Feline Network kittens go to find a home after they've been spay/neutered. One week the Dudester's eye was watery and he needed to see the vet. Another week, he seemed to be walking oddly.

       Now the Little Dude is walking much better and could probably go to the Adopt-a-pet, but he's been here too long at this point--I can't limagine my home without him.



The Little Dude loves playing
with his toy mice





Taking time out at the bottom
 of the cat tree

 

















    
     In the meantime, the Dude's half-sister has moved in next door with my wonderful neighbors Debbie and Jeff.   She has become best friends with their American bulldog Bodhi. Originally called Little Squeak, she is now known as Little Squeak Be Jammin'.    Little Squeak has the energy of an entire litter of kittens, racing from room to room, teasing Bodhi, even playing on the trampoline.   Her personality is completely opposite from that of the Little Dude's.   The Dude is shy, quiet, contemplative, a very sweet little soul who got off to a difficult start in life.   Hopefully from now on, things will be so much better!

Beanie in New York

This is Beanie and his little friend Snuffles the bear...plus Nala, Moosie, and tiny black Phoebe.

New York visit

I'm in New York for a few days, visiting my friend Joan and her cats Nala, Beanie, Phoebe, and Mr. Moose. More to come...pix and adventures!

Re: Beanpaste

     Many years ago, I spent a few months teaching English in Tokyo. One of the first things I noticed was the delectable looking pastries in the window of a shop I passed on my way to the subway. There must have been hundreds of pastries (or so it seemed) and every one was different, each an exquisitely confected little marvel of sugar and dough in the form of animals, people, things. There were pastry villages and pastry people and every kind of animal imaginable. Being a lover of sweets, I couldn't wait to stop in the store. The first pastry I ate was filled with a mildly sweet, rather bland substance that I couldn't identify. It was okay, but didn't really live up to my expectations. The next day I bit into another one--same bland filling. Day after that...you guessed it. Despite the appearance of incredible variety, each and every one of those lovely little sweets was stuffed full of beanpaste.

     Nothing wrong with beanpaste, mind you, but why am I writing about this?

     Yesterday, I went up to the Mesa--where sadly there has been an explosion of kittens this autumn--to pick up a little six-week-old fellow that a kind-hearted homeowner had rescued. She had the little guy wrapped up in a towel and was cradling him in her arms. As she handed him to me to take to one of Feline Network's foster homes, I thanked her for taking care of him. She replied, "To me, he's a human being. He's just a human being in a different form."

     Which brings me back to the Japanese pastries. I'm lucky in that most of the people I meet in my volunteer work with feral cats are kind and compassionate like the woman on the Mesa. But the world is still populated with many who see animals as objects, to be used or discarded or ignored. Because animals don't have the dubious gift of language and the even more dubious gift of the awareness of their own inevitable deaths, they are devalued.

     The woman on the Mesa has it right. The same Life that animates humankind animates animals. A lost kitten, an abused dog, a pig on its way to the slaughterhouse, they're all imbued with the same Life, the same consciousness, that humans are. All that differs is the exterior form. We are all filled with the very same 'beanpaste."

Re: September 26, 10

     My wonderful 'Blogmaster' Stephanie has reminded me of the importance of keeping current. The truth is I have been so busy with cat related activities that I have not had time to write. So I will try to correct that.

      Last night I left 4 kitten traps up at the Mesa, the same area where Plush, Little Squeak, and Little Dude were found. A homeowner had reported to me that numerous kittens and cats had been seen around her patio, so I decided to trap. Around 9 pm, however, I got a call from another Feline Network volunteer informing me that there was 'nowhere for anymore kittens to go"--that is, all the foster home options were full and I might actually have to release any kittens I trapped. I thought about going up there to the Mesa and pulling the traps, but it's a rural area with no light and I didn't relish the thought of blundering around in the dark with a flashlight outside these peoples' home. I was up at the house at 6 a.m., though, and all 4 traps were empty. On the one hand, that is very sad yet given that I would have had nowhere to take the kittens, I suppose it was good, too.

       I am learning so much through all this work with cats. Not so much about cats, but tons about people. A few people are concerned and proactive; they want to help me in any way possible, they ask intelligent questions and are clearly compassionate individuals. Others, however, seem utterly indifferent. Not only do they not seem to care at all about the welfare of the feral cats on their property, they also seem oblivious to the consequences of reproduction--that whether they like cats or not, if somebody doesn't spay/neuter them there are very quickly going to be vast numbers of them around. Of course one can observe the same thing with the human population. The simple, sobering mathematics of overpopulation, be it our own species or the feline one, seems to escape many of us who dwell here on the planet.

       Beyond that, I am also learning a lot about myself--how quickly I get discouraged, how fast I am to panic when I can't be assured of the outcome of a particular situation. I try to remind myself that rescue organizations like the Feline Network with volunteers like myself have saved many many animals--including two of my own cats who are Feline Network adoptions--but sometimes this pales in comparison to the overwhelming amount of need out there. I practice Buddhism, a Path in which the virtue of equanimity is highly valued and believe me, I have been trying to practice equanimity--the middle ground where one remains unperturbed regardless of outside events.

      As far as today, my plan is to trap at a location closer to home tonight, at a home in Arroyo Grande where I've already caught two kittens and a third has been spotted. But again, the same problem. If the kitten is old enough I can just get it spay/neutered tomorrow and then return it to where I trapped it. This is surely not an ideal solution but sometimes the only one.

       Often it is not so much about reducing the suffering of existing ferals as it is about preventing further suffering in the kittens they would produce if allowed to.

       I look at my own seven cats and wish I could communicate to them how incredibly fortunate they are--that as long as I am around, they are guaranteed a constant source of food, shelter, and access to medical care. There are so many many who don't have that.

       In the meantime, my work with cats offers me a great ongoing opportunity to stay in the Now and to practice taking action while letting go of the results of that action.

The Little Dude And His Sibling Plush

     As a volunteer for The Feline Network here on the Central Coast, I have been especially busy this kitten season. It's late now--early September--but the little ones just keep coming.

     A couple of weeks ago, I got a call from a woman who lives up on the Mesa in Arroyo Grande. She said she'd spotted two feral kittens and had caught one, but the other escaped. I drove up there, picked up the little guy, who was huddled miserably in the back of a carrier, and brought him back to my house in Pismo Beach. I set him up in a cage with a bed, litter box, food and water. For the first few days he barely moved, just stayed as far back in the cage as he could. I made him gruel, which is a mixture of kitten chow soaked in water until it gets mushy and SMR kitten milk replacer. Finally after a few days, he started to feel more confident and I began calling him Little Dude.

     One afternoon, I heard him crying and rushed into the bathroom where I was keeping him but couldn't find him anywhere! Finally I looked up and there he was--this tiny little creature--perched on the metal rod of the shower curtain. Apparently he'd climbed up a towel to get there and was stuck. So that was the Little Dude's first adventure!

     Just as Little Dude was starting to warm up to his new surroundings, I was able to trap the other kitten--his sibling, I believe--who had escaped the week before. This kitten, whose gender I still don't know, is grey and long-haired with very sad, soulful eyes. I call him/her Plush, because I'm sure that's how she'll look once she is brushed and combed and puts on some weight. Plush is still very very shy, but she snuggles with Little Dude in their cat bed and has a good appetite.

     And now a third Mesa kitty has arrived--a little gal I'm calling Little Squeak, because of her loud voice. And thank God she has such a voice because it saved her life!

     Three days ago I drove up to the Mesa to put out food for the feral mother (whom I had trapped, had spayed, and released). While I was there, a kitten started to cry. A couple of neighbors came out and we all hunted for this kitten. I had two traps with me, so I baited them and put them out. Later that night, one of the neighbor women called and said we'd caught the cat. I was so happy because I assumed it was the kitten. When I went back to pick it up, though, I saw we had trapped the adult female who was already spayed. And we could still hear the poor kitten crying.

      I released the mom, since she is feral and thus unadoptable, went home and brought back two kitten traps. This time it worked! I caught a tiny black kitten, maybe five weeks old. She was very hungry and dehydrated and was suffering from an infection in both eyes. Another member of The Feline Network, a vet tech, came by with eye ointment and in only two days, her eyes look perfect now. She has a great attitude, loves to play, and has a wonderful outlook on life--especially when you consider she was all alone in the night, hungry and frightened.

     Little Dude, Plush, and Little Squeak will eventually go off to the Adopt-A-Pet and begin new lives--hopefully in loving, forever homes. In the meantime, they'll be hanging out here for at least a couple more weeks; they're a handful but I feel blessed to be able to foster them.

New kitties

    So much has been going on with the addition of another foster kitty to the two I already have! I am calling this kitty Little Squeak because she (I think it is a she) has has a loud cry--which undoubtedly saved this little one's life.