Friday, August 31, 2012

White Girl and Her Kittens

I was called to a Corvallis situation, asked to help catch a mom who had showed up, and her three kittens.  There are also a couple of males in the mix, one white and probably the mom's brother or adult son.  After walking the block last night, while white mom was being fixed, I found out she was once owned and named Tiny.  Her owner, an old woman, had died.  Now a group of "interesting" souls live in that trashed out house, and said they still feed her. They have an unfixed orangish male, whom I had already met and they want to get him fixed. Thankfully,  the people who contacted me also feed Tiny, the white mom.

I caught her the same night.  Yesterday, thankfully, Heartland had a surgery opening and she was spayed.  The people who contacted me were off on a short last of summer trip to the coast.  So I offered to try for the kittens anyhow and they agreed.  I caught the two boy kittens.  They tamed quickly, in the car.  I pulled them out to feed them, comfort and hold them after catching them.  I took them immediately to Heartland.  But the girl kitten has eluded me, hiding in brush against the back of one yard or jumping through two yards joining that one at its middle, both fenced.  I can't jump fences, but she can go through them.

I tried to catch her in one of those backyards.  I'd called and called, my best mother cat calls, and got her to come almost to me, but with a fence in between.  She would not come through the fence to me and I could not get over the 8 foot tall offset board fence.  You can't even see through the cracks of such fences.  You can only see a bit of space to the side.  I understand people want to fence out even the sight of their neighbors, but this seemed like overkill.

Course I was a frustrated soul trying to catch a little kitten, gilding my opinions.

I went around the block to see if I could get someone to answer their door at the house with the yard where the kitten was crying.  They were not home.  So I knocked on the door of a neighbor's very nice house.  A girl came to the door and was really wanting to help.  She took me around through the fence of the neighbor house, and told me to knock on their back deck door, way up some stairs.  But they were not home.  I asked the girl if she could help me. She'd already said those folks would not mind me catching a kitten in their yard.   She agreed to help however, since it made me nervous to be in someone's yard when they were not home.  These are fancy yards and houses, by my standard, and well off people might call the cops, I reminded myself.

Stereo types die hard.

Rich people to me seem to live in a completely different world.  To me, this neighborhood is high end, but the people who live there probably see themselves as middle class.  High end people aren't as approachable or as friendly as low enders, in my opinion.  Makes me feel off kilter to be around them much, not comfortable and on my guard.

We tried to catch the kitten.  That kitten was so good about running this way and that, in a chaos of shrubbery, trees and native plants, that made it impossible for the girl to steer her towards me and my net.

I had a can of wet cat food and dropped it, at one point.  When I reached to pick it up, I felt a sharp pain on my finger.  I'd been stung.  I saw no bee or wasp, but something stung me right on my left inside middle finger joint.  It began to swell and soon looked like an overdone hot dog.  I was hopping around, trying not to curse, because the girl helping was an unblemished teen from a well off family (didn't want to say sheltered)--well brought up.  Not like most Albany teens and even toddlers I encounter, who can curse like sailors.  So I made some pathetic little "ouch" noises, interspersed with phrases like "Darn that hurts but I'm ok!"

Her mother was calling, demanding she come home by then, after just a few minutes helping.  The kitten ran off.  Some other young man entered the yard and asked what I was doing there.  I was holding my stung swollen finger, a half full can of cat food, my net and had dirt all over me.  I said "Um, trying to catch a little kitten."  "Oh," the fresh faced spotless teen goes, "Is that something you do for a job?"  A technically correct answer would have required much to much effort on my part at this point.  I said "Self appointed.  No pay."  He grins big.  I leave.  Home owners arrive home just afterwards and I think the guy will tell them about the kitten in their backyard and there will be a neighborhood effort to help her.  Yeah right.  Must have been the wasp sting and poison circulating to make me think that.  Ha!

Dream on, cat girl!

I spent another hour hoping to catch her.  During that time, I banged my face on two low hanging bird houses in the dark, spilled tuna down my pants, did a whole lot of cursing as my finger swelled to the bursting red zone and called it a night.

Alby, white male kitten now at Heartland.

Opie, also all white, and a boy, now at Heartland.

So far uncaught and unfixed white male, either White Mom's brother or adult son.  Also, daddy of the kittens.  In bred boys!!  I told them not to wear that label too heavily, as a lot of the folks around here are inbred.

White Mom, real name--Tiny, fixed yesterday at Heartland.
This morning, a young possum hissed at me from one of the traps I had left set and the girl kitten cried from three feet away, nestled safely from me, two fences in between.  Moments later, she slipped by me into the wasp sting yard.  I eyed their 8 foot fence, wishing I could sprout wings.  I can't.  So I came home.  Her mom is recuperated enough to go back and that kitten doesn't need me at this point, she needs her mother.

I will take that kitten her mom.

She'll be caught eventually, probably within a week.

Her brothers tamed instantly and are at Heartland.  All white.  Alby and Opie.  Darling boys.  But not as bright as their sister, that's for sure.  That girl kitten is impressive!


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