Saga of Hugo the Handsome by Dora Brown

A black and white ball of fur rests in my lap, purring rhythmically, interrupting himself occasionally to stretch up and tap playfully on my keyboard, added unwanted letter to my sentences-a self appointed editor. Two years old now, Hugo the Handsome is the picture of perfect feline contentment.

It wasn't always so. He came into my life by an act of violence. Born to a feral mother he and his brother and sisters were saved from starvation by a kindly woman who fed feral (“wild”) cats in the neighborhood. One night, she grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, stuffed him in a small carrier, and slammed the door shut. I tossed a towel over his prison to calm him, but he continued to yowl in protest. I took him to my house, planning to socialize (“tame”) him as I had done with other kittens, then find him a permanent home.

When we arrived home, I took a closer look at him. It wasn't very promising. He was dirty, thin, flea ridden—and utterly defiant. Green eyes glinting, he hissed and slashed his claws at me. My heart went out to him at that moment. I set out food, water and substitute cats' milk in my tiny bathroom and opened the carrier, hoping that he'd eat and settle down overnight. The next morning the food and water were gone, and so was the kitten!

He'd climbed up the shower curtain and upon discovery, again threatened me with those claws. I'd socialized several other feral kittens, and they'd all quickly succumbed to food and affection. In less than a day, they'd turned into cuddlesome, purring pets. Not this one!

After a few days, though, things began in improve. He'd allow me to touch him, but briefly. Then he began to purr and seek me out. Meanwhile, I was hunting for a permanent home for him. I found responsible people to take the other three littermates, but no one wanted this little guy. I hadn't named him, believing that doing so would create a bond, that he'd become my kitten, and I already had three cats. There was no room in my house--or my life-- for another cat.

You know what happened, don't you? One day I looked at him, and the words popped out, “Hugo, you're a handsome devil.” So I accepted the inevitable, and Hugo the Handsome became a member of the household. I'd wanted to find him a good home, and I did.

BG and Jerry's Story

Jerry and BG

 

At this time I would like to introduce a few of my personal cats. I will start with BG and Jerry, as the calendar said it was their 6th birthday last Sunday. Of course, I'm not exactly sure if it was their birthday; it is when I estimated their birthday should be. They were probably about 4-6 weeks old when I pulled them out from under that old refrigerator on Pete's porch. They are my ghetto kitties. It's hard to believe that a town as small as Blanco has a ghetto, but it does. I wasn't the first one to use that term, but that's what Pete calls it and he should know, since he lives there. I would like to say a few words about Pete. I had seen him around town, and honestly, he looked a little scary to me. Turns out that he is gentle soul, an artist who shares what food he has with the cats. He doesn't like to see them suffer, but at that time didn't have a way to get them fixed. When I first became aware of the situation, there were about 5 unspayed females and 3 intact males, plus the two little tiny sick kittens. It was a hard life for those kitties, having litter after litter with most of the kittens getting sick, suffering and then dying. When I pulled the little ones out from under that fridge I also pulled out a piece of fur from a kitten that had not made it.

Pete



 

I was able to trap all the females and get them fixed and returned. But one of the males had a broken leg and tested positive for feline leukemia (Felv). He was a wild boy and there was no way to treat him, so the hard decision was made to put him down. The oldest female only had one eye, as the other had reportedly been shot out by someone with a BB gun. It is hard to believe so much time has passed since I first pulled them out from under that old refrigerator. They were both such tiny little things, so sick and their eyes all sealed shut, not because they where newborns, but because they had been infected with the herpes virus that so many kittens seem to get. There has been many times that I have used a warm, moist cloth to unseal a kittens eyes only to have large amounts of pus ooze out. By the time they were big enough to be fixed I had become attached to them and couldn't bear to take them back to the ghetto. I named them Jerry and BG. BG is short for Baby Girl or Blind Girl. She was such a small sick

BG

little kitten; I didn't think she was going to live. She was totally blind for quite a while. What I found interesting was that she didn't know that she was blind as she had never experienced sight. She was a spunky little thing exploring every thing her little paw touched. I remember her playing with the buttons on my shirt when I would pick her up to clean her eyes. I was afraid that she would always be blind, her eyes were in that bad of shape. I'll never forget the first time I saw that she could see. She had wandered into my bedroom and had noticed the ceiling fan slowly circling above her. It was the funniest thing watching her spinning around trying to keep an eye on that fan. Since then she has gained some sight her left eye, but her right eye is destroyed. She is a pretty little cat, with medium to long buff colored hair, and she is a happy cat. She still doesn't see very well, but she is a jingle ball pro. She can bat those balls all over the house. Her eyes are always goopy and running and I suppose that someday I will have to get the bad one removed. But she is happy kitty. Jerry is a big kitty, a bi-color gray and white, a kitler kitty, a cat that has a Hitler like mustache. Jerry has one eye that is always runny. Both cats will carry the herpes virus all their lives; it just doesn't go away.



I went by Pete's today, the fridge is still on the porch, his little colony of cats has shrunk down to 4 cats with no kittens being born since 2009.

Please Spay and Neuter your pets.

 

Ghetto Kitties and that Orange thing in the
background is the fridge I pulled Jerry and BG out from under.



Sample of Pete's artwork

 

 

Poison Ivy

Links:
A .Amazing Urushiol
B. Poison Ivy

Not long ago I wrote about my feelings regarding cedar trees, and my chainsaw solution to the problems they cause. In this post I would like to introduce another villain of the plant world, poison ivy. In the process of cutting up the fallen cedar I have been unpleasantly reminded that poison ivy vines can and do climb trees. Of course this time of year there are no “leaves of three” to give warning. All that is showing is the dead looking vine. So, while I was happily cutting up the cedar I didn't think twice about the “honeysuckle” vine that I chopped up and put on the burn pile. Then a day or so later a familiar rash started popping up on my arms, right between where my gloves meet the cuffs of my shirt. No problem, I have been though this before, I will start treating this right away and then it wouldn't be quite so bad. I find it truly amazing that one or two small blisters can itch so very much. I thought that I was going to get off easy this time until a few spots showed up on my legs, then on my stomach and drat it, on my face and now it is pretty much all over. When will I learn to wash everything, I mean everything that could possibly have that oil on it. An internet search revealed some fun facts about poison ivy and its cousins, that I would like to share with you. The ingredient in poison ivy that is the poison is an oil called urushiol and takes takes only 1 nanogram (billionth of a gram to cause a rash. It would only take 1/4 ounce to cause a rash on every person on the entire planet! The amount that covers the head of a pin could make 500 people itch. The nasty oil is found in the entire plant, leaves, stems, roots. Only people react to the oil, animals can actually eat the stuff. Little did I know that I had chemical weapons growing right in my own back yard. And, it is organic!

An Update on Rascal

Rascal

Thank you all for your kind wishes. Rascal is feeling much better after being catheterized and spending the night at the vet. He is on a special diet of canned food, which he is very much enjoying. ( My cats rarely get canned food.) And, I am thrilled to report that he is able to urinate on his own again. I am less than thrilled on were he is choosing to go, the bathroom sink and the bathtub wasn't so bad, but really, on my bed and did he really have to  go on the clothes I was going to wear today! It is a good thing he is so darn cute and that I'm so happy he is feeling better.  We have two sayings in our family, "I love you just because." and "I love you even though."  I love Rascal "just because" he has been with me since he was small enough to fit in the palm of my hand, and he really is a rascal. I love him "even though" he is peeing in places I would rather he didn't, and that he can be a brat.

Cats will sometimes urinate in places you would much rather they did not, as a way to tell you that there is something bothering them. It doesn't do any good to punish them, the best thing to do is figure out what is wrong.

The Night I Almost Lost Rascal

 

Rascal

Links A. Male Cat Urinary Tract Issues
          B. Feline Urinary System Blockage

(Note from Anastacia: If you enjoy my stories and appreciate my efforts, please follow my twitter account. This is the only truly accurate method that allows me to gauge reader interest. Thanks. @texascatnapper)

I almost lost one of my cats today. Yesterday morning I noticed that Rascal was taking a long time to pee, then last night I saw that he was unable to pee or spray at all. Often cats who have problems like this, will attempt to get your attention by urinating in strange and annoying places. In less than an hour Rascal tried to go in the kitchen sink, the bathtub and the litter box. I also noticed that he was spending more time than usual grooming his privates, and his attitude towards the other cats was more grumpy that usual. Cats hide their pain and sickness. It is a survival mechanism; they don't show weakness. When they feel pain they lash out, or they run in an attempt to get away. Rascal took off in the night and hid in the workshop in an attempt to escape from the pain that he didn't understand. There wasn't much I could do for him last night. I did try to stimulate his bottom like one would do for a newborn kitten using warm moist paper towels, but he would have none of it. He growled and hissed at me, making it very clear to me it hurt. Neither of us slept very well last night, and when I got up at 4am to check on him I found that he had used the kitty door and had gone outside.

This morning when I woke up he was nowhere to be found. I rattled the food dish which usually attracts his attention, but today, no Rascal. After searching, and calling/whistling, he showed up. I was so relieved to see my Rascal coming out of the workshop. The fear that I may lose one of my cats had started to creep in, and it made such a difference to know that he was still with me. From the manner in which he gingerly walked towards me, it was obvious that he was in pain. He did come inside and drank some water, which he then threw up. I put the open carrier in the middle of the room allowing curious cats to go into it and check it out. Like the others, Rascal became curious and climbed inside. I shut the door and he didn't even protest. Poor guy just wasn't feeling well. The vet office normally opens at 8am, but I was not going to waste any time; I was on the phone at 7:30am. I had no trouble making the necessary arrangements, and once Rascal got into the carrier it was off to see Dr. Philip. After a brief examination the vet decided to insert a catheter in order to drain the bladder. They also decided to keep Rascal overnight. The vet informed me that Rascal was able to go on his own, which was a huge relief. When we pulled into our driveway we were both happy to be home. He will have to on a special diet for several weeks, and I have to keep him in the bathroom for a week, in order to monitor his urinary functions. As a special treat for my sick kitty he will get to sleep with me during this time. I am very allergic to cat dander, so this is something that doesn't happen very often.

Whenever one of my own personal brood of cats is ill, I do what I can to educate myself on the cause, symptoms, and treatment. I learned that with some male cats, crystals form in the urine that can block the urethra. In male cats the urethra is normally very small, which can result in the type of blockage Rascal experienced. Untreated, death can occur within 48 hours. If you notice similar symptoms in your cat, please contact your vet immediately. Dr. Philip said that this is most common in male cats between the ages of 3 and 5 years. Sometimes it is a one time occurrence, or it could happen repeatedly.

I am so happy that Rascal is home and feeling better I will be keeping an eye on him to be sure that we don't have a re-occurrence of the problem.

Racal and Pixie




I Have a Chainsaw and I Am Not Afraid to Use It

Thursday I spent the day in Austin waiting for the eight cats I took into the Humane Society to have their surgery and then to wake up enough for me to take them home. After a restless night listening to kitties crying to be let out of the traps I happily returned them to their homes. The first one out was the one that had protested the most, and what does he do, but go right into the open trap that his sibling was in, then into the next trap, then up into the car. After two nights of crying and then he wants to go back into a trap, what a cat! After the releases all I was left with was the dirty traps and the odor of pent up cats. I do have a “day” job which I worked at the rest of the day.

The weekend was spent cutting up cedar. Cedar, if you live in central Texas you must be familiar with cedar, it is everywhere! I know, I know, it is really a juniper, but around here we call it cedar. It comes in male and female sexes, it is the males that produce the pollen that causes cedar fever. Cedar season usually starts around Christmas and lasts until the end of February. Cedar fever is a miserable allergy. When a cedar tree releases its pollen it can look like it is on fire and is smoking, so much pollen is released at once, it really is a site to see. Now I know it is not practical to cut down all the cedars, but when one is suffering from cedar fever ridding the world of cedar trees doesn't sound like a bad idea at all. If not all the cedar trees, at least all the male cedar trees. When I am out for a drive this time of year, I take pleasure in noticing all the male cedars and picture them cut down or burning up like a torch. Or, cut down and burning! Last year when my suffering was at its worse, red and itchy eyes, itchy ears, runny nose, even the roof of my mouth and deep inside my ears was itching, stuffed up head, feverish, you get the idea. I decided to fight back, I revved up the chain saw and tackled some pretty big cedar trees on my property. It was hand to hand combat or rather hand to branch. I ended up covered with bruises, scrapes and scratches, but they ended up fallen. The satisfaction I got taking down those trees was immense. But, they did fight back, even after they had fallen they used their last bit of life to produce a last burst of pollen that made me miserable. Now cedar grows like bushes but the ones I took down were actually trees, big trees. I should have been scared, but I think, that at the time I was feverish and slightly mad with cedar fever. Now a full year has passed and it is time to clear away the fallen trees. I pull out the chainsaw again and start dissecting. Through the years I have found that I can dispose of all sorts of things if I am able to reduce them to smaller pieces. I have dissected a clothes dryer, a swimming pool and now I am working on those dead and dried cedar trees. It would be easy if I just wanted to cut them up and burn them, but I don't want to waste them, So the needles I am stripping off to add to my garden in the hopes that it will raise the soil ph. The smaller branches I am cutting up for kindling, some of the larger pieces I am cutting up to burn in my wood stove. I am saving the long straight pieces for posts and the really large pieces I hope to make something out of. Maybe some benches or a mantle piece. It is slow going but I am making progress. A chainsaw is a wonderful tool to reduce things into smaller pieces. I am not a big woman, but I do have a chainsaw and I'm not afraid to use it. Something to remember if you ever think of crossing me!

TNR: After Trapping it is Time to Visit the Vet

Links: A. Wikipedia definition of TNR
           B. Ally Cat Allies/TNR

Tomorrow morning I will be getting up at a ridiculously early time; anyone care to join me, 'cause I sure could use the help! Not help with the cats, but help waking myself up at 4AM. I will be driving a load of  unhappy cats to the vet in Austin, so we can complete the middle section of the TNR (Trap-Neuter-Return) program. In most instances the reason why it is so difficult for me to wake up and do this drive is because I'm usually still tired from trapping cats the night before. I always set up the car the night before, because I'm on autopilot in the morning and I don't want to leave any cats behind. My normal breakfast of cereal and coffee takes no time at all and before the sun comes up my little blue car, filled with aggravated felines will be cruising down the road to Austin. In an hour and or so, I find myself backing into a parking spot at Austin Humane Society. I leave early so I can arrive early, because no one, I mean no one, wants to get caught in Austin morning rush hour traffic.  Another reason that I like to arrive early is to ensure that my cats are taken care of quickly and I don't get stuck in Austin all day. Everytime I make this trip, I turn the corner into the parking lot full of anticipation, waiting to see if I'm the first to arrive. Believe me, it's important; a matter of minutes in the morning becomes a matter of hours by afternoon. I usually get to the Humane Society a bit early, so I sit and wait until the staff unlocks the doors at 6:30 AM.  When the doors open, there can be a bit of a rush to see who gets signed in first.  If I've arrived first, fair and square, don't try and push me out of my first place spot!  Before I can leave, the still-caged cats must be brought into the facility, and then its real paperwork time.  After roughly an hour, I'm ready to say a temporary good bye to the cats, and I have usually five to seven hours to kill before the cats are ready for pick-up. I load up my reliable blue car with groggy, "altered" kitties, and I head west back to the Hill Country.

When we arrive back home, I remove the cats from the car and place them safely in my carport, where they will sleep off the anesthesia overnight. I also make sure that no complications have developed and that the cats have food and water. The next morning is the part of the process that I really

enjoy. When the cats are released back into the environment in which they are familiar, their happiness is palpable, as is mine. I feel like singing the theme song from "Born Free", as I watch the cats celebrating their freedom once again. Ideally, arrangements will be made for the cats to be fed on a regular basis.  Now TNR is not anyone's idea of a perfect solution. It begins with the unpleasant task of having to deny the cats food in order to coax them into the trap. Keeping them in the traps for an extended period of time is also not my idea of proper animal care. But in the end, an abandoned cat has been altered so that it doesn't create five unwanted cats every year.  I believe in the program because I know it works.  

6AM Outside the Austin Humane Society, waiting
for the doors to be unlocked

Covered cats in traps, lined up
waiting for surgery

  

Part 2 Guest Post by Eric Burkhart, “www.mukhabaratbaby.blogspot.com”

 

A Funny Thing Happened On My Way To Buy Deer Corn. Part  2

Anastacia stayed very late, which is not uncommon. As soon as the cat gets hungry enough to go into the trap with food, the opening closes. Voila, another cat ready to go. I couldn’t help but laugh when Anastacia shared with me some of the stories of Raccoons and Skunks getting locked in the traps. Neither animal is fun to work with, as Raccoons are mean-spirited (just an opinion, Raccoon lovers) and strong, and skunks have a built-in flame thrower, so to speak. Sometimes it takes Anastacia a number of days to catch the entire colony, but she isn’t one to leave a job incomplete. Then she transports to the animals to an Animal Defense League office or to a Control Facility or Vet that is willing to help (the Raccoons and Skunks are released onsite, thank you). Once the cats have been fixed and doctored, Anastacia returned them to the location, and ideally an animal lover will take over the job of providing food on a daily basis. The Dollar General job was a bit different. One of the cats (Sasquatch) was ready to give birth, and another (Emerald) went into labor maybe a week before we began the operation. It took both of us to locate Emerald’s hiding place for her kittens, but we succeeded! One of my favorite memories, something I will never forget, was Anastacia walking up to me out of the brush with a huge smile, and a kitten tucked into each pocket of her jacket (four in all). The little beasties were not happy, and they were letting us know; but I’ve never seen anything so delicate and soft and beautiful as those four little kittens. Emerald did well, and I’m happy to report that all four were adopted, as was Emerald.

Unfortunately, everything has a price tag. Depending on the location and the medical dispensation of the cat, the average kitty will cost between $50 and $75 for the surgery and the doctorin’. Believe me, very little if any of that money goes back to the trapper, regardless of the time, effort and gas expended. If I come across a “cat situation” I won’t hesitate to investigate and see if possibly I can hire Anastacia to assist. I don’t have a great deal of disposable income, but this is something that I’m happy to add to my budget. I don’t know what it is, but I just can’t handle seeing an animal in need. My father used to say that animals were better company that most people because people have a tendency to covet, be jealous, cheat, lie and cause pain. Animals act in response to need and the laws of nature, which makes them more predictable and trustworthy. My old man had a way of getting things right.

So if you’re ever at a grocery store or an ice house, and you see a nice-looking lady in a hatchback, moving around cat traps, it just might be Anastacia. Do a good deed and go up to her and thank her for her efforts. If you spare it, donate a little cash to the local Trap, Neuter, and Return campaign through Anastacia. You will be doing your part in the battle to keep our communities free of feral animals, and end the needless suffering of domesticated animals.



Guest Blogger Eric Burkhart, Part 1

Guest Post by Eric Burkhart, “www.mukhabaratbaby.blogspot.com”

A Funny Thing Happened On My Way To Buy Deer Corn.

One cloudless, warm summer day in 2012, I headed out to Lowe’s in Blanco to pick up some Deer Corn. I have a family of White-Tail Deer that basically live on my property in the Texas Hill Country, about an hour north of San Antonio. The permanent members of the family are female, as once the males get old enough and rut season begins, they leave. Normally, I see bucks in groups of two, but the ladies always travel in larger numbers. I have been feeding the same ladies for over five years now (a combination of Corn and Nutrition Pellets), and they know me very well. They have absolutely no fear, and one won’t hesitate to come into the house, if I’m forgetful enough to leave the door open (I lost a box of Girl Scout Cookies in about twenty seconds flat, but that’s another story). On my way to Lowes, I happen to glance to my left in the direction of the Dollar General store, and in the back, beside the dumpster, I can see a number of small cats digging around through some left-over garbage. While picking up my Deer Corn, I decided to by some cat food for those cats, because they looked hungry. I just can’t handle the thought of a starving animal. Like most people, I assumed that cats have no problem living on the wild. I was wrong; I remember the day that I was reminded that “domesticated means domesticated”, whether referring to dogs or cats. Domestic Cats are not meant to be living feral lives.

As I pulled into the Dollar General Parking Lot, I realized that I would need to park near the dumpster, which bothers some business owners who don’t like people dropping off their garbage. When I parked and got out of my car, the cats took off in all directions. There must have been seven or eight, and they were fast. Once I opened the cat food and started pouring it on a conveniently placed folded-up cardboard box, two of the more courageous (or just hungrier) cats came right up to me. That’s when it happened. I looked down into those little, desperate, hungry eyes, and I said to myself, I can’t bring myself to just forget about these cats. They were surviving, in a manner of speaking, but it was a life of predators, weather, hunger and disease. No doubt some of the cats were dumped, and others were the kittens of cats that were dumped. How does anyone find the cruelty in their own hearts, to dump an animal in an unfamiliar place, with no shelter or food? I just don’t get it. That day, I added a colony of cats to my list of animals that I intended to feed, right under the White-Tail Deer and the two Foxes that come around every night.

I became a familiar face to the staff of the Dollar General. They were wonderful, and would give me any cat food that had become unsealed during the transportation from the warehouse. They never minded me back there by their dumpster, and after the first two or three visits, the County Sheriffs started just waving to me as well. I would feed the cats once in the morning and once in the evening, and a couple times a week I would clean the back lot of garbage, as a favor to Dollar General. The cats were spoiled. The received a mixture of dry and wet cat food every day, and not surprisingly, it wasn’t long before the number of little beasties started to grow. I had two twin Torties, two Tabbies, two solid back girls, three orange and white, and a handful more of mixed colors. One of the smaller cats, that for a while looked like she might not make it, had really large paws. I became totally infatuated with her and started calling her Sasquatch because of her bog feet. Well, it turns out that once she got a bit of meat on her bones, her feet were totally normal! But the nickname stayed. After a couple months of this routine (and the assigning of the unwanted nickname, “Crazy Cat Dude”), I began to notice that Sasquatch was developing an odd shape. On closer inspection, I noticed that Emerald was even more oddly shaped. I’m no moron, at least not on even-numbered weekdays. I realized that some of my kitties were pregnant. The number of cats was about to double and I had no idea what to do! I didn’t know what to do, so I called the local County Animal Control. You can imagine my shock when they informed me that most County Animal Control Departments in Texas no longer deal with cats. The number of Felines had gotten way out of control, as had the number of female Pit Bulls that were being dumped. So they elected to focus exclusively on dogs, and leave the cats to their own devices. I found out later that many Animal Control Centers across the country were having the same problem with female Pit Bulls. The dogs were always very friendly, and usually not very old. Young men were buying the females as soon as they reached breeding age. Then they would be kept caged and pregnant ALL THE TIME, so that by the time they were three or four, they could no longer have puppies. Then they got dumped in downtown somewhere. What makes the story even more horrific, is that the puppies that were born (at least the males) were being bred to fight. Dog fighting has re-emerged as a scourge on our society, and unfortunately it is more popular now than ever before. But that is a subject for another post.

After having no luck with the state organizations, I decided to call a few private groups. I hit the jackpot with my first phone call, which was to the Blanco County Cat Coalition. I spoke to a wonderful lady named June, who was determined to help me from the start. I explained that I had a colony of cats, and number of them were pregnant. June took the time to carefully explain the “Trap, Neuter, Release” program. The cats are trapped, taken to a vet, neutered or spayed, given a physical and the full range of shots and vaccinations, and then released back into the same environment, where they can be fed and “maintenanced”. Since no cat shelters that I have seen are dealing with overflow crowds of ideal families to adopt cats, this is the best solution. The cat will not breed, it will have its shots, and it will be fed. June explained to me that since the cats weren’t actually in Blanco County (one mile south), the decision to address this particular colony would be made by the lady who does the trapping. June added that they were very lucky, because they had an amazing woman working with them who really had the hang of it. She put me in touch with Anastacia, and we met that afternoon at the Dollar General. She had no problems with the location, thank goodness, but if she were going to attack this problem, then I needed to understand a few things up front. “First, we aren’t dealing with eight or nine cats, but probably fifteen or more. And when I start the trapping, you CAN’T come out and feed them. You must put away your worries about the poor hungry cats and let me do my job, because in order for the cats to go into the trap and get to the food, the cat needs to be mighty hungry.” That was going to be tough. The only way that I could agree to that stipulation (even though it made total sense), was to stay away from the Dollar General completely, until all the cats were caught.

I learned so much from Anastacia in such a short time. She taught about the general nature of cats, and what to expect in particular circumstances. She really knows her business, and has her heart set on doing what is right. At this point, with an absolute flood of unwanted cats and dogs being born in the wild, we have to focus on the neuter and spay program. I believe that a quick inspection of Blanco County (and others that are on the ball) will demonstrate that this program really helps to get the numbers under control. Knowing this fact didn’t make it any easier to watch my little Sasquatch looking back at me for food, so I left.

To be continued.............

Sasquatch and Kittens

The Eyes of Sorrow

To help those that suffer in silence, unseen, mistreated, abused.
Abandoned by the ones they loved, lost, alone, confused.

They live in the shadows hungry, and struggle to survive.
A scrap of food, a bit of warmth, they fight to stay alive.

To help those who cannot help themselves, together we can be stronger.
A broken heart can strengthen the will, they are alone no longer.

So hope there is, some eyes do see, but fixing cats, its sure ain't free.
If fact we've gone through all our stash, so now please quickly give us cash! :)

Cat Returns From the Dead or The Case of Mistaken Identity

Recently in national news there has been a story of a cat that had died, was buried and dug his way out of his grave. Well here in Blanco County, TX I was told a similar story. The following tale is based loosely upon the truth as told to me by Megan.

Once upon a time a young couple had a cat. This cat was very special to them as it was their first pet together. They named the cat Shelby and they all lived happily together in their very first apartment. Shelby was a rescue cat, that had been found outside lost and scared. Since she had moved in with Megan and Tim, she had shown absolutely no desire to go back outside. For instance when her people had the door open to carry in groceries the cat would only supervise from the safety of the living room.

Then one night somehow the patio door was left open and when the couple woke up Shelby was gone!

The couple frantically looked and called for her, finally giving up only when it was time to go to work. They left some food out on the patio, hoping Shelby would come back on her own. Later that day they continued the search, asking everyone they met it if they had seen Shelby. Finally some folks gave them the bad news that they had seen a cat dead on the road that looked like Shelby. Tim went and looked, he assured Megan that Shelby hadn't suffered, that she had been hit on the head and that it had been a quick death. He then brought the body home and buried it. Days passed and they both mourned, but life tends to go on, bills to be paid and jobs to go to. Then one day Megan got a phone call from the local vet saying that a lady called and they think they had found Shelby. “That couldn't be, Shelby was dead and buried.” Silence, either knew what to say next. Then the caller asked if Shelby had been a torby (markings like a tortoise shell and a tabby) and had been kinda overweight. “Yes.” Well they had the phone number of a lady that had a cat that looked like Shelby. Tim was sent over to the lady's house, while Megan stayed home afraid to hope. I can just imagine how she felt. Losing a beloved animal, grieving for days, then could it be possible? No, couldn't be, Shelby was dead and buried, but what if? The suspense must have been terrible. If the cat was indeed Shelby, then who was buried in the backyard? And if the cat was not Shelby, then who's cat was she?

Tim later admitted that the animal he had buried seemed a little to heavy and a little to long to have been Shelby. Poor guy, I can just imagine the questions Megan must have had for him. Hopefully she was so happy to have Shelby back that she wasn't too hard on Tim.

Shelby is back at home, having spent a few days visiting the neighbors. Whoever is buried in the backyard will forever remain a mystery.

Epilogue; I am very happy that Shelby is back home, but sad for the cat that had been hit by the car. Please spay and neuter your pets and any feral cats you might be feeding. Also, micro-chipping your pets is a good thing. Please share this story.

My First Trapping Adventure or How I got My First Dog

I had started writing about my first trapping adventure at the old Blanco Monastery, but as I thought about it, I remembered that the first trapping project (except for the occasional mouse, which I would trap at work then release out in the country) I undertook actually involved puppies not cats. The year was 1986, the place Texas Renaissance Festival (TRF), the situation, someone had abandoned a dog at the end of faire and she went and had puppies under the King's Feast, a wooden pavilion. King George the owner of TRF had either shot or had ordered shot the mama dog, the pups had been left to fend for themselves, until they could also be shot. My boyfriend, who was later to become my husband, worked as horticulturalist for King George, he was also a dog lover, and he got permission from George allowing me to try and catch and rescue the pups. I am guessing they were about 6 weeks old and trying to survive by eating junebugs. It was spring in Texas when I approached the group of pups playing in a clearing. They had not had any interaction with humans, so they were not afraid of me. I was able to grab 2 of them, one in each hand. Not real smart, but then what did I know. One of them bit me, so I let go and only was able to hang on to one of them. Now, the pups where leery of me so the next time I approached them they would not let me touch them. I seem to remember using a net or throwing a blanket over one of them. They were smart little dogs and would watch each trick. Each time I had to think of some new way to catch them. Then I used a box propped up with a stick with a string attached. I don't remember how I caught them all, but I do vividly remember the Granddaddy of an opossum that I caught one night in the havahart trap. Boy was he big, big teeth, big tail, big balls and boy was he not happy! I also remember the second to last pup, he was a little black boy, short hair, with a bit of white on his chest. Not a pretty pup, but cute in a homely sort of way. As I caught each of the pups we would take them home clean them up and then ask everyone we ran into if they needed a dog. In this way we where able to save all of them. It took me days to catch the last puppy, even though she was starving she would not go into the trap for food. Finally it was loneliness that got to her. I ended up using her brother as bait by tying him up in the trap. That last little dog was so smart that she actually tried to chew though the knot that was holding her brother captive, only when she was unable to do that did she get into the trap with him. Caught her! What a smart doggie! Needless to say after I had put so much time and effort into trapping her she became my dog. I named her Buttons, cause in my eyes she was cute as a button, and boy was she smart. She would respond to whistle commands, she always retained her shyness and wariness of people, but she loved and trusted me and I her. When the children came along, at first she was scared of them, but soon found out that they where harmless, and then accepted them into her pack. She was a beagle mix and even though she accepted domestication she always remained a dogs, dog, bringing home bones and perfuming herself by rolling on dead things. What a good watch dog, she would hide from view and keep watch, sounding the alarm when an intruder approached. I remember one of her favorite hiding places was in the garden under the leaves of a squash bush. She was my first dog, she lived with me for about 15 years, before she disappeared one day. That is the story of my first trapping experience and how I got my first dog.

Thank you for reading it.

 

Ugliest cat I ever trapped

 

But, kinda cute for a dog.