|Buff tabby tux male from the Lebanon house, neutered Thursday.|
|Big white long hair male from the Lebanon house, fixed last Thursday.|
|Young black tux male fixed Thursday from the Lebnaon house.|
|Short hair orange tabby fixed Thursday from the Lebanon house.|
|Patches,a torti, fixed Thursday from the Lebanon house.|
|Young Lynx Point female fixed Thursday. She's from the Albany house, where I already took three from, to be fixed. Everybody is now fixed there.|
|Heaatherdale trailer park male, fixed last Thursday, at Heartland in Corvallis.|
|Juno this morning against a backdrop of either heavy January frost or a bit of snow that fell last night.|
|Miss Daisy loves her Fancy Feast! I get boxes sent by someone I've never met, who lives in Canada. The cats love it and it sure makes my life easier. Thank you Elaine from Canada!|
|White Wonderland this morning!|
I had a couple of them when I was young. I had a lever action .22 rifle and then later, a .44 magnum six shooter. I reloaded cartridges for the .44. Had to. They were terribly expensive otherwise. I got it to take to Alaska. When my mother saw me off on the plane, with the gun declared legally in my suitcase, I made the mistake of including cartridges I'd reloaded, in a zip lock bag in the suitcase. You could only take prepackaged factory bullets by air. So they made me remove those, said they couldn't fly with me. What to do with them though. I gave them to my mother, went through the security gate to the waiting area for boarding my flight.
My mother wanted to see me off though. I didn't know til later how she got rid of those cartridges. Frantic to find somewhere to dump them so she could go through security (which then was just a metal detector), she told me she dumped them in a metal ashtray in the airport. Can you imagine if she'd done something like that now?
I sold the .44 in Alaska. It wsa not practical to carry even hiking. I had a terribly frightening bear encounter, with it along, and I could not imagine angering that bear further by shooting at it, hands shaking as they were in sheer terror, with what seemed like a peeshooter. A .44, the most powerful handgun out there at that time. A peeshooter feeling to it in the face of a mad Alaskan brown bear at close quarters. So I sold it. After that, I wore a bear bell, sang to myself and kept hyper alert, when hiking, often alone. Keeping hyper alert to smell, sign and sound wasn't hard to do after a close encounter like I'd had. In fact, I had nightmares about that encounter for at least five years and could afterwards smell a bear from a half mile away with the right wind.
All the righteous wrath now over rights with guns makes me sad. Why don't people get all stirred up about flesh and blood things, like the kids in this county, many subject to abuse and parental drug and alcohol use. Meth is so huge here. HUGE! No uproar over that. No passion.
Go cozy up with and sleep with your cold deadly objects. I don't care how many guns people have. I don't want them pointed my direction accidentally or purposely. I think it's strange to collect lifeless deadly objects. I think it is strange to worship them and paranoid to believe you have to have stockpiles of them in your house. But that's my opinion. As long as these crazy gun people, and I will call them that because I get called a crazy cat lady for loving cats and living with cats, don't shoot at me or near me, fine.
We worshp violence in our country. Violence is our god of gods. We bow down before it.
Our holy guns. Sacred religious objects.
Kind of scary, aren't we?