Two of Four Kittens Get Fixed

The vet wouldn't do two of the kittens, because they have URI's--the two from the colony, that the colony caretaker is keeping inside the house. The other two, Spider and the little feral male from NW Corvallis, were done. I paid the $25 and had to give back the $25 donated by the colony caretaker for the two who weren't done, when I returned them this evening. I told her they need to be on antibiotics, but I don't think she has any left.

I realize I wouldn't get any adoption inquiries most likely anyhow on a holiday weekend. So many people are gone, off camping and such, the last fling of summer. I feel bad I never did a damn thing all summer. I had so hoped to find someone, or a group, to go camping with. I never did. I only went swimming once, too.

Both my innertubes are flat. I started to collect a few two liter pop bottles in hopes of making myself a boat of some sort out of them, then gave up, since I really don't know anybody that drinks that much pop.

I've been depressed all summer really. I'm not cut out for Albany living. I have nobody anymore, nobody I could call on to help out should I need help here, get hurt, get sick, or even if I want to get away for a couple days. It's kind of a scarey feeling.

At nights, sometimes I wake up missing my mother. I do miss her, although she was so brainwashed by dear old dad. I don't miss him. They're both dead.

Sometimes at night I wake with a rush washing over me and my heart beating, thinking I've died and where am I now. I figure I must have been dreaming something. Sometimes at night I think about the aloneness. It comes over me in long black suffocating waves.

I become stoic in the end and remember I'm a stray and strong as a stray. The strays die out there, in intense suffering, without anybody comforting them and I can die alone, too, when my time comes. Almost everyone ends up alone when they die. Car wrecks. Accidents of all sorts. Heart attacks.

Me and the strays, we have a lot in common.

In America, I'm expected to cuddle up to this computer and that should be enough. I am expected to plop on the couch in front of reality TV and that should be more than enough. It's not enough for me.

I've never been good at e-mail communication. I write and read them hastily, missing things. Or I write an e-mail when overwrought or mad and regret it later. However, I've never been able to equate e-mail with the real world. It's like fantasyland to me. I don't know why. But I usually don't even feel I am writing to real people, for some reason.

Perhaps it's my age. Maybe younger generations do not equate online communication with fantasy. Maybe younger generations really feel they connect with people online. I don't. I can't. I get in trouble because of this, which can make matters worse for me in attempting to communicate in other more personal ways.

I'm not much good at social interaction anymore. I've been alone so long the lack of social interaction means I don't get any practise. When I get a chance to be around people, I flub up. The longer I go without meaningful human contact, the less likely it becomes that I will ever get it, because my eccentricities from life alone and lack of social interaction practise become more pronounced.

I could be happy living in the company of others in stick shacks along a river. If I have good friends, I need nothing much else. I know many of you who read this think it's stupid to desire human companionship. And if that's how you are, that's how you are. But it's not how I am.

I think it's time I say goodbye to White Fang and answer the call of the wild.