Last Cat Standing

The BS colony has been a challenge to complete. At least half of the cats look nearly identical, orange or buff and white, or white with some calico markings on face and tail. There are a handful of grays and even fewer blacks. The last unfixed female out there, is all black.

I attempted to catch her once, by blocking off all accesses, I thought, for escape from the garage and trying to net her. That did not work. She vanished inside the garage. We tore that garage apart trying to find her. In the end, I discovered cobwebs freshly torn through behind the large furnace vent that goes up into the ceiling of the garage. Beside the vent, is a small hole into the ceiling of the garage. She had evaded me.

Her three kittens, now almost five months old, were fixed last week. One was euthanized, because of blood in his belly and mouth and facial injuries that resulted when he fell from the top shelf of the garage onto a large bucket edge. I was told by the colony caretaker that this black mother wasn't doing well. She'd sit with her tongue hanging out and drool dripping from the side of her mouth. This is not a good sign.

What could be causing this? All sorts of things, none of them good. Things like mouth or throat cancer or stomatitis, which is the most likely cause. Things like FIV, which causes mouth sores, but so does the curable chlamydia. Things like gingivitis or a broken tooth. The latter two causes are ok by me, but unlikely. I will place my bet on stomatitis.

A cat sticks her tongue out because the back of her mouth hurts and this eases the pain somewhat.

Tonight, the caretaker called me, to tell me the cat was in the garage and she'd closed off access to outside. I went over. I needed something, some success of some sort, because I"ve been in a downward spiral, depressed by constant rain and lonliness made worse by menopausal problems that have been rather extreme.

I checked the caretakers' blockage of the cat door out of the garage. It was minimal, and foolishly I didn't reinforce the block of the cat door. They have clear plastic sealing the outside of the garage, to try to keep heat inside. The caretaker said if she got out the hole, she'd still be trapped inside that plastic. I wasn't sure what she meant by this.

I went inside and there she was, under two chairs. The garage is jam packed with boxes and junk and tons of other cats, who are all fixed. Two black ones were under that chair. I tried to manuever closer, through the junk, trying to move huge boxes, and old chairs and overflowing litterboxes and cardboard to get in to where I could even see her. She shot out, through that cat hole into the plastic. I could see her bouncing around inside it, through the opaque window of the garage. I raced outside.

The plastic was tight across the back of the garage, but it had been pulled tight against the frame and the garage door itself is set in from the frame about four inches. She had plenty of room to move around in there, climbing the garage door itself, then dropping to the ground. She finally tore back inside.

I went back inside. we couldn't find her. I feared she had pulled her usual disappearing act up into the ceiling, but, the cobwebs leading to that hole were intact. She was in here somewhere. I told the caretaker, "If we don't get her this time, we never will." I began dismantling all the junk methodically, end to end, until I finally spotted her, with two other cats up on a high shelf. I knew this was not going to be easy.

I had two nets with me. One has holes in it. I stood on a chair and reached my good net in front of her, on that shelf, way up high above my head. It also was full of junk. I tried to get the other net up quickly, to spook her towards my good net, but she bolted before I had it in place. I caught her in mid air, in my bad net and tried to swing my good net up over her, before she found the holes. Too late.

She was on the floor and quickly in behind tons of junk and big boxes. But I knew which way she'd go from there. I stood back to let her think she'd get by me. I'm quick with a net. Lightning quick. She never stood a chance.

Once she was in my net, I got her from it into a carrier, despite doing so off balance, standing atop junk and leaning into the small dark area, where she was confined, in the net. Once she was in, the hooting began. I went outside and with one net in each hand and both arms overhead, whooped and hollered into the pouring rain and night.

But catching her is not much of a victory, knowing she may have something incurable like stomatitis, and maybe not come back from the vet tomorrow alive. Nonetheless, she will no longer be suffering either, and if she comes back, no longer will she be producing kittens.

The colony is finished. 91 cats later.

I removed and rehomed approximately two dozen cats from the BS, including Aces and five siblings, who were adopted by a neighbor, four of those six kittens were females. Ming, a torti kitten, got a home. Scottie and Maryann got homes. Well, I can't even remember them all now. Two went to Eugene, both girls. Pixie, a back barn kitten, is with my brother. Two boys went to a home. I can't remember them all tonight. Purrly went to a disabled woman in Eugene.

One adult cat died, torn apart by the neighbors' dog. Another adult went to a home in Lebanon.

Shady from the BS is still here, now a teen, hoping for a home.

There may be a couple more to catch at BS Overflow, however.

After I left the BS tonight, I went to Independence. Long ago, Poppa asked if I would help an older woman trap and fix some ferals she was feeding. I finally found that e-mail. I called her up. She'd gotten seven of them fixed at an FCCO clinic in the meantime, last fall. Two of those seven have since been hit on the road. There were four kittens left, along with the five who are already fixed. She in no way thought I'd catch any of them. I caught all four.

I used the drop trap to catch three. I caught the fourth in her garage, after spotting him in there. I used a standard live trap to catch the fourth. I did this all in about half an hour.

Tonight's success was needed. I've had a rough couple of weeks. Menopausal symptoms in the last week have turned me into a bitch. Couple that with neck pain. I did something to trigger it, I remember, although I can't remember what, but when I am in chronic pain, I am not fun to be around.

There was the mail key issues too, and the problems with the car. Hope got returned. So did Ozzie, but since then Ozzie got another home, a good one, in Corvallis. There have been a lot of cat deaths lately. I have to steel myself, because I think there will be another tomorrow.

I miss Bangor. I miss her a lot. I know she's happier in her new home, but gosh I miss her. I still find myself looking for, then remembering she's gone to a new home. I wonder if she's happy, if she's getting what she needs. I miss Old Sal and hope is happy. I think about Aces, too, and wonder how he is getting along. He was such a sweet boy. The boys who came to adopt him were very nice, but not very communicative at all.

I get attached you see, to these cats--every one of them. I do not see them as numbers. I see them as individual lives with all that entails, all the hopes and fears that a soul carries inside of them.

I know them, when I look into their eyes, and what they want, and I can't save them all, I can't be sure all of them get what they need once they leave here, or that they are even safe.

This is what bothers me, about Heartland and cats, the killing that goes on there, like it's ok somehow, like they are doing them a favor, like they don't count at all, not their suffering, not their desire for love and to live. Why won't they change? Those cats they kill, for so many reasons, they all want to live. Killing them casually, with no plan to change, for years no plans to change the killing, that is wrong.

Progressive programs are popping up everywhere, in much poorer communities than Corvallis.

We must stop the killing. We must change in Benton and Linn Counties.