Cat Photos

Lebanon cat whose eye was removed at the Neuterscooter clinic and she was spayed.
The Lebanon kitty again.
Tweetie, from the trailer at Columbus Greens and the old woman who died. Of those twelve cats who came here from there, Button and Tweetie remain.
Tweetie again.
Tweetie on the cat tree while Shady enjoys refuge in the hanging carrier.
Feather, yawning big.

I really wore myself out last week. There is nothing like bottle babes, and worse, sick bottle babes, to wear a person out. Teensy, the little sick tabby, is improving. Boy, is she one fighter. I don't know how in the world she survived. Well, she had help. For days, I fed her all sorts of mixtures to stop the diarrhea, included Brewer's yeast for iron, goat's milk, because she was intolerant of KMR, nutrical, acidophiles, other pro biotics, human baby food, pedialyte, Karo syrup, rice cereal, all kinds of things. And, I gave her sub cu fluids three times a day.

She might have turned the corner now. Hard to believe something so tiny could survive what she has survived. I've had a heating pad running 24/7 for her, so she can stay warm. I know this has all cost me, not just in exhaustion but that electric bill, when running a heating pad, gets up there. At least it is summer and I'm not running heat for the house, which will help.

I suppose the bottle babe care, then the extreme clinic, where I'd been up most of the night before, checking traps, because I didn't think I'd be staying at the clinic might have set me over the top. The unexpected bill for 8 cats from around the grange just piled on more. Then missing that camping trip, because the Lebanon cat whose eye had been removed, was not picked up, I guess that was the topper offer.

I guess I got into helping cats because they saved me when I lived homeless along the river in Corvallis. One starts out, never thinking you'll end up with a zillion calls for help every week and never a break and too many cats to care for you're trying to adopt out and no help at all. You see the worst of humans every day, sometimes the best, but the constant barrage of exposure to people who do not care for their animals and who want to use and abuse me, and to animal neglect, cruelty and abandonment has worn me down over the years. I start thinking there are not very many good people out there because most of what I see are the bad.

I do not have any friends, if you define friends as people you talk to and laugh with and do things with. The people I know around these parts are people I've helped with cats and there have been thousands of them. But friends, I have none.

It is not easy to have nobody. People can think it is, but it isn't. It is not easy to have nobody and to see the worst of people and all the animal suffering and try to stay positive and sane and well. I fight becoming a cynical isolated ranting crazy cat lady everyday. I don't mind being called a cat woman. It's better than being a bar fly. It's better than being one of these middle aged high school football fans, who gets overly friendly with the coach and players. Now that's bizarre. It's better than being a boy band groupee, too, or any sort of groupee. It's better than being one of those flaming conservatives or liberals whose entire lives are spent posting nasty comments on the websites, blogs or articles of opposing views. It's better than being called a whole lot of things.

But I don't want to become terribly cynical and I have never enjoyed having no human contact. I just can't find anybody.

Most jobs are stressful, however. There probably are not many that are not. There are no perfect lives or situations. One has to make their own solutions. And I need to find a way to deal with stress better. The bottle babes are leaving tomorrow, for a foster home, four of them at least. They'll be back when they are two pounds. Mom will be with Teensy alone for awhile and then she'll return to her home, too.

I hate taking her back, since she's turned halfway tame and will even tolerate sitting on my lap, but I will never find a home for an adult black female. I'm no good at finding homes anymore. She is so tired of being confined to my bedroom, growls at my cats through the crack beneath the door, and likely would not be letting me pet her if she was not so stir crazy bored. She's well fed there and it's a nice location for cats, except for the rural road that goes by, where people often drive like maniacs.

Another blow to my psyche this last week, was when I found out Spay Inc. is adopting out kittens unfixed. I could not believe they would do such a thing. You would not think, would you, with a name like "Spay Inc.". So I called up to ask it was true. The worker at their pet store said "Well people like them young. If they want to come back and get them fixed, they can. Not many of them seem to do that."

I asked, "Do you do any follow up, if they don't?"

"No," she said.

I weighed the bottle babes, when I took them in on June 4. All had severe diarrhea. They were about ten or 11 days old at the time. They really didn't register on my postal scales, but I finally told the vet they were 1 oz, or almost 1 oz.

Today, when I weighed them, they are on average 11 oz, with two, Pippi and Bear, 12. 8 and 12 oz respectively. So they've made some gains in the 16 days they've been here. They are now almost four weeks old and underweight still for their age. But they'll catch up I bet. At four weeks, they should be very close to one pound in weight. Three are eating solid food, despite having access to mom, who doesn't like feeding them. She can deal with one or two, but five drive her nuts.