I don't have funding anymore to get cats fixed. If people pay my expenses to trap their colony and contact the FCCO to get appointments and make their deal on what they'll pay, then I might possibly help, as long as the cats can return. But I can't even do that very often because it puts more mileage on a car with already far too many miles on it, most of those odometer miles accrued from helping people out.
But when I rounded up those three, they said there was another, a girl, a black tux, and she'd had a couple litters. I couldn't let that go, in my OCD head. No way, not more unwanted kittens born under garbage in a field.
I saw a black tux in the grass nearby and pointed the cat out, asking if that was "her" and they affirmed it was. I was perplexed. The cat had a huge male head.
The FCCO offered to "finish" this colony with a reservation for Sunday's clinic. There's no way I can afford to drive to Portland and no way I'd do it for one cat even if I had the gas money. The FCCO offered up a solution. The Salem FCCO volunteers were transporting cats from the valley up to the Sunday clinic. Yahoo, I whooped!
So I went over with the drop trap and waited, with it set up, watched the other cats the people feed eat under it, and chatted with about everybody in the hood because that's how I am.
|The Buff boy on the left and the white girl with some black eating under the trap are two of the three I took to be fixed before. Their black tux male, to the far right, is already fixed.|
I ran into a woman I'd known a long time. I helped her with cats long time ago, then when I was having pre back surgery intake done, I ran into her again, because she worked at the hospital. That was in 2005. I didn't expect she'd remember that but she did. So she directed me to another house on the block, said the woman there fed cats and might know the black tux "girl".
The woman met me at her door with a parrot on her shoulder. It was too cool!
I reached out to the parrot, instinctively--a friendly gesture. The woman quickly stopped me! "He will shred your hand!" she warned. I jerked my hand back.
Her house is set up for the parrot! She loves him and he loves her!
She has a cat in the house, also, but in the bedroom, away from the Parrot. The cat once was loosely owned by the chaotic house people but they claimed to see her only once a month. I know why! She's inside and safe and well cared for now at the Parrot Woman's house because the poor cat had dislocated her shoulder, fence and roof walking, in a fall. The Parrot Woman took her to the vet. When X-rayed for the shoulder issue, the film showed she'd also been shot with a pellet.
The Parrot Woman is very creative in surviving on minimal social security. She has the kitchen completely hung in heavy plastic, including across the doors to contain heat and she lives in there, because she can only afford to heat one room. She does her dishes in a pan and then uses the water to flush a toilet or water plants. She has a barrel under one gutter too, to save water, for toilet flushes and plants that way.
I was amazed. Her sister also gifted her a cell, on her plan, since she could not afford a phone anymore either. I told her my brother did the same for me and we talked about how much we each love our siblings.
She has lots of family in town, which, she says, is important if you're poor.
She cares for strays (ain't it always the poor who do so?) including others from the house I originally was asked to help and she was happy to learn those three are now fixed.
But as for the tux, she said, "It's a very big boy, not a girl." She'd named him Captain Kirk.
Not long after, I went back to my drop trap and saw "her" along the fence and called to the cat, to stop him in his tracks, and showed him a plate of food, which I then put under the drop trap. I retreated to my car. In the meantime, the chaotic house people's tiny dog ran out to eat under the trap. One woman and two kids raced out after him, temporarily delaying my effort.
But, the big tux quickly came and under the drop went Captain Kirk. I yanked the cord and he stood staring vacantly at me, after the trap dropped, blocking all escape, unsure of what this meant for him, then went on eating, as an alternative to doing nothing at all. I covered the trap and quickly transferred him to a live trap.
Over at the Parrot lady's house, I showed her the cat, to confirm it was the one she fed too. It was. I got a glimpse of huge balding balls too, to confirm Captain Kirk is a he and not a she.
I asked the chaotic house folk again how many litters "she" has had and they said they thought over four years, maybe two, but the last kittens they found were dead. "Uh, huh," I said, knowingly. "Only two".
The garage reeks now from huge male pee. He's set up in a cage. The cats come here, to my unfamiliar garage, scared and thinking they're probably going to be harmed. They don't know how to act or what to do. My job, if I hold them any length of time, is to reassure them. If they see me interacting kindly with other cats, this can help. So can catnip, baby talk and treats.
Do you think insecure Sam is O.K. with that? Hell no. Sam is going nuts! I'm spreading catnip and other very strong odors to mask the scent of my severe indiscretion.
Meanwhile, the Parrot Lady has another male she's trying to catch because the FCCO said I could bring him too if she catches him. She's not sure she will, since he only shows now and then. I guess he's a huge unfixed male also, slate gray in color.
The Salem folks are taking the cats this evening. The big guy will be gone from the garage by late afternoon. Update: He's up with the Salem FCCO folk who will take them to the Portland FCCO to be fixed, then bring them all home. He went with another young orange and white male. There are at least two more big males, not fixed, causing problems. The slate gray one, not yet caught and then this big guy, with an old collar, but no id. His balls are HUGE.
Meanwhile, Buffy from the BS loves her cat weed. I let her indulge. Why not?
|That's the stare I go for every single day.|