Monday, October 31, 2011

Netting Kittens/Halloween Echo

Meet Echo! I first met him when I got him fixed, over on Hill St. He was a starving lonely stray. However, he got taken in by the woman who asked for help getting cats fixed there.Below is Echo now. Is he abused or what?



This morning, I was asked to travel down Riverside Drive and meet a KATA volunteer over some kittens. What else?

She had originally asked me to trap the cats living around this trailer and help get them fixed. But then I got the e-mail about the Sunday FCCO clinic, forwarded it to the KATA woman who forwarded it to these folks. They got reservations and traps.

Alas, the woman called the KATA woman worried. The prolific mom had kittens, eyes just barely open, she said. She'd only seen one, but it was hopping off her porch. "Hmmmm," I thought, "Two week old kittens don't run around and jump off porches."

So I met the KATA woman at the trailer. The owner wasn't home but her step son was. He's super nice and was probably frightened by the other volunteer and myself. Just kidding.

So, looking under the handicap ramp on the side of the trailer I spot something way back, near where ramp meets ground. I couldn't see it that well, so I pulled my usual stunt of sticking the camera under there and letting it be my eyes. Here's what the camera showed:


Tabby on white kitten!

With much ado, using a mirror down beside the the lowest part of the ramp, and a flashlight, I spooked the kitten out, but the kitten got by my net. We thought we'd lost the little bugger, until the young man said, in a whisper, pointing at the covered barbacue "It's under there."

So we blocked the lower edges of the barbecue cover with blankets and then I "went in", ground level. Hahahaha. Oh boy. My net is big hooped and torn up, but I managed to net the little girl. She's hardly two weeks, more like 8 weeks.

After she was in a carrier, we spotted black and white under the handicap ramp. We tried to be more deliberate this time, blocking the sides of the ramp as it "ramped up" to the porch, with towels, me using a mirror and stick, to watch the kitten from the tiny hole near the end, at ground level, traps set up under the ramp where the height allowed it.

The kitten spooked forward, but the plan failed, when he bounced sideways and the KATA volunteer moved, and the blanket stuck to her knee, pulling away from the ramp side, revealing light for the little kittens eyes to see.

See that light that kitten did, and darted out that hole and across the yard and disappeared. Oh well. These are trappable kittens. These are not two week old bottle babes. Mom is pregnant again.

When the neighbors trap the cats Friday and Saturday for the clinic, they will catch those kittens, too. We don't need to be crawling around on our faces in the dirt, as upper middle aged slightly pudgy cat wranglers, to get them, just because it's fun, which it is. Can't deny that.

Later, the black and white one and another tabby kitten cavorted in the yard across from us.

The girl we did get, from the barbecue, went home with the KATA volunteer.

I want to dress up every one of my cats next Halloween to look every bit as good as Echo looks in his bug costume.

Sunday, October 30, 2011

Roof Decor

I saw Shady out in the cat yard, looking up at the roof of the garage.
I went out into my driveway and looked up. I have a roof adornment!

Zeva lives a block over, but spends almost all her time on this street and is fed by my next door neighbor and sometimes by me. I got her fixed, along with many others from that same house.

Photos

Slurpy in the window.Rumby!

And again! He's had a slight cold lately but HATES his medicine.
Raindrop, of the Nine Albany Business cats. They're doing good. Of the nine, only Misty, who is now gorgeous, Raindrop and Tilly remain unfriendly. Even adult calico Haley has taken to life here like it was meant to be.
Sassy of The Nine, taken today. She is still sassy and still sports that furrowed worried look.
Gretal, doing well and gaining weight after the ordeal with bad teeth and getting them pulled.
Electra, one of my own, ancient, dozes, with Calamity, from Lyons street, behind her.
Slurpy, from the Save the Kittens colony, near Lebanon, dozes.
Fall has found Oregon. Leaves have turned, rain has come. Not that it ever left. We did not have much summer this year.
I revised the homemade cat fountain. I found three homemade ashtrays at Goodwill and glued them to on end old CD rack. The tube coming up the back of the CD rack goes into a crushed metal leaf from an old light fixture. The green wire holding the metal leaf in place is temp. It will be glued in place, too. It's still ugly, but what can I say.
Leaves dead and dying on the concrete.
The leaves from the one still standng maple, the Birch but not yet the Cherry (always last to lose its leaves) are weighing down the cat yard wire again. How to get the damn things off without ruining my neck. I had hoped a decent wind storm would blow up and do it for me.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Photos of Cats Taken to Be Fixed Yesterday

21 cats travelled with me to Coos Bay and the Snipped clinic yesterday. The last five from two neighbors out beyond Jefferson went along for the ride. All five were females. I took photos of only four of the five. Here they are, all gorgeous girls!



I took six Albany cats along also, from six different locations. I still have not returned, or photographed two of them. But below are photos of four.
This girl was found wandering starved to death off Geary street. She is older and turned out to be already spayed.
Sassy, a darling Lynx Point Siamese female, was spayed yesterday.
Snowball was the little girl alive in fleas, owned in Albany, fixed yesterday. And, her fleas were killed.
Lukey, a little boy taken in by an Albany family and neutered yesterday.

I also took down six from between Albany and Lebanon, off Fish Hatchery Road. One male, the gray one, turned out to be already fixed. And the little orange and white male kitten is the one who had the severe heart murmur who stayed there, at the clinic. Tamara tells me an employee has taken him home. I did not get a photo of him.Muted torti mother, in back, and black male kitten, in front, gulp food, in a cage prior to returning after they were fixed.
Male fixed yesterday.
Already neutered male, from this location, who took the trip.Gray and white male fixed yesterday.The charcoal gray male, already ear tipped and fixed, caught in the barn off Knox Butte. I understand now why I didn't catch the ear tip. It's a LEFT ear tip and was not one of the cats I trapped at the colony half mile away. But I know this cat from somewhere. I recognize his face. It will come to me. The Wilsonville clinic used to sometimes make a mistake and left ear tip instead of right. So did Countryside, when I used them. The Neuterscooter vet who no longer comes to Oregon, always did left ear tips, but then he'd have the green NS tattoo in his ear and I don't see that, but I will find a better flashlight to check for the NS before releasing him.

The thing is, he knew me too. I could tell that by the time I took him back out there to let him go. So I know him and he knows me. But from where? His face is so familiar, like having a word you're searching for to use, at the tip your tongue but it won't come to you.
Butter, a pale org tabby male, from a barn off Knox Butte, who beat up his face on the trap, was neutered yesterday along with two others taken in from that barn.Pawnee, the long hair white with tabby male, fixed yesterday.
Miller, a black and white male, trapped in a Millersburg shed (formerly my shed) with a slightly clouded right eye, was neutered yesterday.

Kiki, the gray female from the N. Albany trailer park. Got her photo before taking her home.Tortilla, the torti kitten from the VV colony. I returned her today. The orange and white male kitten, the torti's brother, is half her size and severely dehydrated and cold and likely has diarrhea which will kill him. I showed this to the colony caretaker but they have an attitude of not doing a thing for these cats except putting out food. The other two male kittens have also disappeared. Again, the attitude, displayed by the daughter, of "big deal" if they are dead, sick or gone. Who cares? They just don't seem to give a shit if they live or die. I have no idea why some people have cats.
Gray fixed male on the roof.

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

21 Mid Valley Cats

I took 21 mid valley cats down to be fixed in Coos Bay today.

I can't say 21 mid valley cats were fixed.

Why? Because three of the cats I took turned out to already be fixed.

How'd that happen?

Well, I picked up a mother cat, two kittens and three males who had been dumped off out off Fish Hatchery road. One of those males turned out to be fixed and one of the male kittens had a level 4 heart murmur. Level 5 is the highest. He couldn't be fixed or he likely would have died. In the end, my buddy Tamara, the woman who opened that Snipped clinic and a former Albany resident, talked to the caretaker and asked if she could keep the cat there, to take care of him, keep him indoors, and watch over him. The caretaker was really happy she would offer and agreed quickly.

Then, an Albany woman I knew way back from the first outing ever of the short lived Poppa run Neutermobile, in Tillamook, called me. She now lives in Albany and had taken in a stray long hair Siamese, who was starved nearly to death. Well, that girl turned out to be fairly old and also already fixed. The clinic found the spay scar and she was not opened up, which was nice.

The most embarrassing already fixed cat was one I trapped late last night, along with two others in a barn off Knox Butte. He was all gray. My eyes are bad and my flashlight batteries dim. Those are my excuses and I'll stick to them. He had an ear tip. He likely was one I got fixed a couple months back at the Clover Ridge colony, the one I've given up on. And by the way, the long hair tabby on white young male, is also likely from there, from a litter of five kittens, mom is fixed. I am so glad they're migrating down to this barn, where I can catch them and get them fixed.

Anyhow, Peter Gray has an ear tip and was I red in the face for not checking.

Pawnee, the young white with tabby spots pretty boy with long silky hair, from same barn, was not and neither was Butter, a big orange tabby tom, whose face was beat up and swollen from banging on the trap. He got spooked last night out there, after being trapped. Something pulled off the cage cover, looked almost human pulled off, but the barn owner didn't do it, she said, and I believe her. Something harassed that poor cat, after pulling the cover off, causing himself to bang into the trap trying to escape, time after time. But what or who?

I took three from that barn. One more than they thought was living there. They knew the gray male lived there, but never knew I had already caught him a half mile away two months back. And I didn't either.

I took one from that Millersburg shed.

I took the torti kitten from the VV, but there are still 3 up there needing fixed, all boys.

I took the gray female from the trailer park over in N. Albany. There were two girls who looked alike, but one has disappeared and the family now has split up.

I took a Lynx Point Siamese, owned in Albany. I took an all white long hair kitten, owned in Albany and so flea infested it made my skin crawl to watch the fleas dying just around her face. I took the Siamese who turned out to be fixed, from Albany, who was abandoned. I took in a black male kitten owned in Albany.

I took in five more from the two households above Jefferson, completing those two colonies. And I took the mother, two kittens and three dumped off males from Fish Hatchery.

That's a damn lot of cats. Also, my car wouldn't start this morning and I was an hour late getting on the road because of that. Then I had to fly, literally, and I like speed.

Once there, I ran into a man returning a live trap. He'd not luck catching the cat he was after. Tamara caught my eye. "Need something to do?" she said. I love a challenge. I went to his place after buying some fish line. I rigged the trap with the line, tying it off to the head rest of the passenger seat. There were tons of neighbor cats who would go in and eat bowl after bowl of dry food and tuna mixed. One brown tabby must have eaten three entire bowls. I was getting seriously mad at him. The Siamese manx female didn't want to challenge Mr. Hungry and shove him out of the way. I waited and waited and waited, while ten or twelve neighborhood cats ate their fill several times over.

Finally, finally, the Siamese ambles in and I cut the fish line and had her. OMG, I was relieved. My reputation was at stake. I told the kitty, on the way to the clinic, "Shit happens, girl, and today shit happened to you. But it's good shit, at least."

It was a very good day for mid valley cats.

Thank you Snipped clinic!

Sunday, October 23, 2011

Boards

Today, I was loaded up with free wood. Free boards, really. OSB.

My friends have a neighbor rebuilding his house after a fire. There is lots of scrap wood piling up. She went and asked if I could have some of it, to build things with.

He agreed and set aside the bigger pieces of OSB.

Today, I went to load it up. My friends loaned me their pickup. I drove my car over, left it parked, and swapped out for their pickup. Then I drove it over the field to the pile of boards. There were a lot of boards there. Many were beautiful and rectangular. Others, not so useful in shape. But it was a take all or nothing offer.

I loaded it all into the pickup and drove the pickup back to my place. But where to put all that wood for now?

I dumped it temporarily at the back of my garage which I quickly cleared, wildly tossing stuff out of the way.

Another friend had arrived and wanted to go for a walk with her dogs. I left the wood problem behind happily for a time. Now it's there, to haunt me.

I started off the morning high in hopes for the kittens over in the colony I've been working, the kittens who are disappearing and dying. Last night, I talked to the colony caretaker and she agreed to hand over any and all but one white one, if I could persuade the KATA volunteer from Corvallis to come with me and take some of them.

The KATA Corvallis volunteer had to cancel an appointment for today to go. But out we went. Two of the kittens are sick, with conjunctivitis and diarrhea. I didn't think the couple were going to be there, but out they came. They had given me permission to take the kittens if they were not there. It's too bad they were there.

The KATA volunteer asked how many they would like to relinquish. The woman said, "None of them."

I was shocked. SHOCKED! I talked to her just the night before and she had told me to take them all, except the white one. Now, it was like I was talking to someone else altogether. Plus I was horribly embarrassed in front of the KATA volunteer, after she cancelled an appointment to come. I was also terribly dismayed for the kittens. And for the neighborhood.

After this, I had to tell the couple I will not be back again, that they will need to get the rest fixed. That's pretty rude to do what she did today.

There are probably ten kittens who still need fixed and two adult females.

They went back into their house then. I couldn't help myself. I scribbled out a quick note about the upcoming Corvallis FCCO clinic, urging them to get the rest fixed there, to register immediately and stuck it into their screen door handle.

There's nothing more I can do there. Not without tearing me apart emotionally, getting used and abused like that, having to watch those kittens suffer when they could be getting the medical care they need, fixed, vaccinated and adopted out to indoor only homes. And those people, being so selfish over them, that they would deny them all those things, when they are already caring for 30 cats, none of them very well cared for, living as strays.

Makes me sad to think about it, really sad to think about it.

After my dog friend left, I took back the empty pickup to get my car. So I was telling them what happened and that now I short on cats for the clinic since I planned to take at least seven or eight more from that place to be fixed. G says, "You want to catch a cat, then catch the one out back right now." She said she was just out back of their place and he was inside the shed eating.

That shed used to be my shed. HP volunteers built it for me when I lived at the shack in Corvallis. I'd ripped out a shoulder muscle trying to build one myself out of scraps from here and there. I was attaching the roof, made from tin I scrounged off a shed burned down in Jefferson by the fire department for practice. The roof began to slide, as I hoisted it up. I was losing control and one corner was headed for that blessed shack's rotted out kitchen window, which would have been enough to make my slumlord scream for a week at me, then evict me. So I caught it. I caught the damn roof on its way down, as it fell.

I could feel the muscle tearing off my right shoulder, as I hit the ground, rolling in agony. It was a horrible ripping feeling that I could easily convert in my brain to sound. After that, my arm wouldn't work right. I'd drop things if I turned my hand one way. I couldn't lift anything.

I needed a shed. So, someone signed me up for the Day of Caring and they came, the HP engineer team, highly organized, and in one day, hauled off my home made shed and created a new one, which was beautiful. They would not let me help, which made me feel helpless and useless, but of course I could not help, with a useless arm, hanging from a useless shoulder.

When I was evicted by the slumlady, there was no way I'd leave her a shed that was mine. So my tow truck friends just chained it up and winched it up onto a flatbed and took it home with them. I'd already installed a cat door with a tunnel made from a large plastic flower pot.

Tonight, I peaked inside my former shed and saw the black and white cat. G says, "Do you have a trap?"

"In my car," I replied, and ran off to get it. In the meantime, she blocked the cat's exit through the flower pot tunnel with her legs. I flipped over a metal tub and put it under the flower pot and set the trap on that, with transfer door up, trap covered except for the far end, so the cat would see light and think he could escape.

I told her to slam the transfer door down when he bolted out through the flower pot exit into the trap. Then I slipped inside with my net. He was hiding in a bale of hay and spooked out the hole instantly, when I touched him with my net, and into the trap.

Yahoo! One cat caught. It's a big unfixed male with a clouded eye.

After that, I went up to the VV colony and hand grabbed two of the four remaining unfixed kitten. The orange and white one weighed in at only one pound six ounces still, way under weight for his age. But his sister, the torti, was obviously of weight, so I scruffed her when she wasn't looking and dropped her into a carrier.

Try as I might, I could not locate the other two male kittens, who hang out down near the couples' daughter's place. And she wasn't home.

Home I came to find several messages. One was from someone with six cats needing fixed. Then someone else needed a male cat fixed. In short, I have 20 cats lined up, 22 if I catch two males out off Clover Ridge. 23 if I catch the new roamer around my place. Unlikely though, since he roams in very infrequently.

I'm over my limit in fact.

So it was a great day. I can build anything I want with all that OSB. If I can find some scrap 2x4's, I'll be busy all winter!

The Cannery

When I was young, long long ago, I went to Alaska.

I wanted to go. I was messed up, like many people, from childhood and looking for an escape. Alaska, with its wild beauty, called to me.

I first went up to take a job I found after answering an ad in the Oregon State University student paper. "Work in Alaska. Restaurant In Seward seeks workers. Room and board provided."

I got the job without much ado.

However, once there, I soon learned the room provided was the basement of my boss's house and that 12 people would share those two rooms. Board was anything the MiniMart restaurant served--fast food and beer.

However, for a young person, this was a dream job! I got to see Alaska.

I was a rookie to Alaska. Within the first week up there, I had a terrifying close encounter with an Alaskan Brown Bear that left me with nightmares for years. Before leaving Alaska for the last time, I would suffer frostbite to many of my toes, that caused me so much pain I had to cut the toes out of my boots to stand walking and was in pain for months. I suffered no permanent damage, however, and consider myself lucky to still have ten toes.

I met fabulous people, like the man who picked me up hitchhiking, outside of Anchorage, who said he was only picking me up because there was a rapist murdering women around Anchorage whom he picked up as hitchhikers.

He took me first to the Kenai River, to go salmon fishing, in the dusk of long daylight hour evenings. He needed someone to watch his back, he said, for bears. So that was my job. But my job became then to save him, when he hooked into a King Salmon and got pulled off his feet into deep water. His hip waders filled with water.

He was freezing when we got him to shore. It was me then who drove him, in his car, heater blasting, down to Seward and that basement apartment, where my co workers and I got him into a warm shower, then gave him some of our own clothes so he could drive home to Anchorage in something dry.

There was the teacher from Anchorage I met, with a friend and co-worker. He had just bought a sailboat. and took myself and my friend out on Resurrection Bay. He had no experience sailing and a horrible wind blew up. The boom was ripped from his control and swung around cold cocking me in the head, knocking me out. We made it to shore. For months afterwards, I had problems and likely had gotten a concussion in this adventure.

I cross country skied, one winter, when I came back to help run the restaurant, after my boss got breast cancer, out beyond the face of Exit Glacier, with a friend. But my skis collected the sticky snow in foot long cakes, along their bottoms, making the going so hard, we were long into the dark when we finally made it back out.

I went back and forth to Alaska, working various jobs, over five years. I wanted to make some money in the end, so I applied for a job with Seward Fisheries, a salmon canning plant. There was also a cold storage side to the plant, but the jobs were in the cannery side.

Cold storage paid more.

I'd made no real money working the restaurant job. If one wanted to eat anything but fast food at the restaurant, you paid a price. There was only one grocery store in town and the fresh food came in once a week and was quickly gone and was extremely expensive. I didn't drink away my money like most of coworkers did. I'd sometimes awaken in the night, to vomit dripping down from the occupant of the top bunk in the basement apartment.

The next time I went to Alaska, I applied and got the Seward Fisheries job. They said I could make up to $6000 in the two and a half month season. If the fishermen had good luck, that is.

I had tried to get a job first on a cannery ship. The money was better but those jobs were hard to get. Even cannery jobs were hard to find. Most canneries offered room and board, but not Seward Fisheries. Local housing was hard to find and expensive, so, if you already lived in Seward, or had somewhere to live, you had an "up" in getting a job there. Many of the workers, from out of state, most young and college students, camped out for the summer. This was an accepted practice, even expected.

After long hours, when too tired to make it back out to my shack in the woods, I slept in someone's car or in some strangers' tent. This too was considered normal for workers.

It was summer and I worked the slime line. I was dressed head to foot in yellow rain gear with rubber boots adorning my feet. I was living out off Nash Road in a visquin roofed 5 foot by ten foot shack out on the edge of a bluff over looking Resurrection Bay and Mt. Alice.

I didn't mind the rough living so much. I was young, after all.

The slime line manager yelled at workers continually, like a drill Sargent, sometimes two inches from your face. "That fish is clean enough," he'd yell. "That fish isn't rotten, run it through."

He once fired a guy on the spot for moving from his tub to turn around and check the clock to see how close we were to break time.

We lived for the breaks. The beheading crew were always dismissed first for break, making everyone else jealous. The lines at break became long for coffee and pastry. If you were at the end, or near the end of the line, once you got your coffee and doughnut, you might have five minutes left on break. We'd gulp black coffee and cram the donut into our mouths between gulps, washing it down with the dark thick brew. Others grabbed coffee and ran out the side door for a quick smoke.

Then the horn would blast and we'd have to get back to our tubs. I had on my rain gear, and yellow rubber gloves. I would clutch a knife and open a hatch that would dump salmon into a freezing water filled tub. I would then scrape any guts and scales remaining on the fish into the other sink before tossing it back on the conveyor line.

All the slimers were constantly covered in fish guts and scales. We were constantly sprayed with water from a hose, from the waste down, by the cleaner crew, to wash away fish guts and scales. We were yelled at if we accidentally cut and punctured our rubber gloves. Those with fish allergies quickly found out they had fish allergies and were forced to quit.

There were machine accidents. One woman got her arm caught in the beheading machine. She had reached in, to re-align a fish. She'd get yelled at if too much was cut off. The machine chomped her arm. They air lifted her out.

I was put on the can inspection line once, after 10 hours on the slime line. I was supposed to watch for irregularities in the lid, already sealed on the can and remove every 7th can to inspect it, by running my finger around the edge.

However, already tired out, the monotony of watching cans go by, put me into a trance and then a sleep, on my feet. Other workers thought it was funny to try to push me over, standing there, asleep on my feet. I was henceforth removed from the can inspection line. I am no good at such jobs.

The drill Sargent yelling in my face stopped very suddenly for me. Not so for the others. I got lucky. My neighbor, up near the shack, was an upscale artist, whose husband ran a local trucking company. She was well known, and was also a photographer. She came in to take cannery photos one day and took one of me, with the screaming manager watching. Seems he knew her, and, when she said hello to me, and indicated to the manager that we were neighbors, henceforth and thereafter, he treated me like royalty, offering me over time in the best jobs.

The season was not a good one. Fishermen did not bring in big loads of salmon that year. I made about $3000 total in two and a half months of the season.

At the end of the season, as planned by myself and a co-worker, we headed home together. First, we hitchhiked back up to Anchorage and out beyond, into Canada and then down to Skagway. We sat in one place for over a day, on a remote road, by a road pole littered in graffiti from other hitchhikers, languishing in that spot, fearing they'd die before they got a ride. Two Japanese doctors picked us up, in the end. Our backpacks were bigger than they were. They had to take pictures with us and our packs.

We got to the town on the Canadian end of the Chilkoot trail. Whitehorse, was it? I have forgotten it's name now, so many years later. My friend had no birth certificate with her, and almost was refused entry, first into Canada, then back into the US.

We then took off on foot, hiking the Chilkoot trail backwards, headed to Skagway, in SE Alaska, where we intended to catch a ferry down to Seattle.

My friend was not in shape. It was September. Snow was falling. We couldn't even find the trail often. We stayed in one cabin on the Canadian side, empty of hikers this time of year, that was over run in rodents crawling over us as we tried to sleep. From there, we headed up the steep rocky pass. Snow was falling heavily. The trail was marked in piles of rock every couple hundred feet. It became an ordeal, since my friend was exhausted. I would go forward in the snow, to find the next trail marker, leave my pack, go back, find her, carry her pack as we went up to the next marker.

But we made it up the pass and down it, on the US side, to another trail cabin. We ran into the trail ranger there.

When we finally got to Skagway, I discovered my friend had brought no money for the ferry, but had spent her money drinking during the summer. I was furious and considered leaving her there. Instead, I bought her a ferry ticket. She promised to pay me back but she never did.

I should have left her there to suffer the consequences of her actions.

We were hard pressed by local authorities however, who didn't want broke "outsiders" stranded. So, under their pressure, I paid for her ticket. We stayed in a $5 a night coed youth hostel for three days waiting for the ferry. There was no privacy, just bunks, for men and women. One room. One shared bathroom. Was fun.

We slept on the backpacker deck of the ferry on the trip down. It was glorious. My mother met me in Seattle. I had a flight from there back to Oregon, but unbeknownst to me, we would miss the flight, because the ferry hit a fishing boat in the Wrangle Narrows, delaying us. So my mother, somehow got word of this, probably through my brother the travel agent, and drove up to meet me right there, on the docks, when the ferry pulled in from three days at sea. My mother, she had this adventurous nature she could only cut loose to show when away from dear old dad. Later, we would drive the Alcan together. She loved it.

My cannery summer memories came flooding back when I saw that a seafood processing company is recruiting for its Dutch Harbor plant. They say a person can make $13,000 in five months.

Room and board provided.

Ha!

Disgusting Craigslist Post. This Guy Needs Jailed!

obama dead??? (keizer)
Date: 2011-10-20, 12:43AM PDT
Reply to:

Come on! I am so suprised that none of these kkk or white pride guys have not wiped him out! I am NOT racist! But seriously why has not one of these guys just put us out of our misery! It seems like everyone hates him and he is a democratic if not socialist joke! Even his wife makes a joke of our country with her sense of style! Europe is rolling on the floor that she is our first lady of disaster!

Location: keizer
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

Saturday, October 22, 2011

27 Cats Fixed Yesterday

Yesterday I transported 27 cat up to be fixed at the Portland fixed place FCCO clinic. 17 came from the orignal household that contacted me. There's one more kitten who needs fixed from there and she will be fixed next week. When she called her neighbors, they said they had about 15. They trap them and contain them in an enclosure in their barn, then socialize them and try to find them homes. Cats are dumped up there, and it's left to kind hearted people, like these two households, to try to help them.

The original people who contacted me got over 20 fixed themselves, but could not keep up, on fixed incomes, paying the cost at private clinics. They were overjoyed for the help from the FCCO and a delight to work with. They contacted the FCCO, made the appointment, negotiated a price, paid for my gas, fed in a trap prior. I told them "You guys aren't like most people I run into." The man is about 86 I think and cared for by his adult disabled daughter, who can barely walk due to severe issues with a hip replacement that got infected. And yet she helped, even having to use her walker. Amazing.

It made me feel good to help these two households.

Here is what my car looked like, transporting 27 cats, each in a seperate carrier or trap, to the FCCO clinic in Portland yesterday. It was like doing a jigsaw puzzle to get them all to fit in.





I took in 17 cats from the folks who originally contacted me plus 10 cats from their neighbors. I don't have photos of all of them.This calico was fixed, along with three of her four kittens. I didn't get a picture of the Lynx Point female kitten fixed Friday.
Black white male kitten fixed.
Torti Point Siamese kitten fixed.This male Chocolate Point was one of the last ones we caught, using the fish line trapping method. I transferred most of the cats in traps to carriers, so I could fit so many cats into my car.
This brown tabby tux female also was trapped but I transferred her to a carrier for the trip up.
Org tabby tux male, fixed Friday.Lynx Pt, fixed Friday.
Gray and white male, fixed Friday.
Last cat caught there, a male, fixed Friday.
Another Lynx Point Siamese, fixed Friday.Tab on white, fixed Friday. This kitty has clouded eyes from a previous illness.
This little gray and white ate and ate, when in a trap in my garage before going up to be fixed Friday.
Siamese mix, the one they thought was a lactating female. However, the cat was not lactating.
Torti Point Siamese female, the cat they call "grandma".

Ten cats were fixed from the neighbor's place:Shy white and tan male.
Persian mix female.
Muted calico.
Torbi!
Beautiful pale orange boy!
Tabby tux female.
Black tux male.
Black tux girl.
Hole in the wall black tux girl. This is the girl who escaped in my garage and whom I found down inside a wall!