Trailer Park Tracking

Tracking cats in trailer parks is an art all its own. This evening I engaged in trailer park cat tracking.

This entails encounters with wild animals.

I encountered one such beast at Trailer 52. What is it about that number and trailer parks with me? Heatherdale trailer park in Albany. Trailer 52. 16 sick tiny kittens in the carport alone. Pregnant cats. Old woman lived there. Adult kids meth heads, but good hearted, I'd say, in many ways.

Trailer 52 at the Stayton trailer park I was told was the source of all the parks unwanted cats. Just like at Heatherdale.

I went calling there night before last and got no answer.

But when I stopped by today, I saw the door open quickly to allow a slim built short hair gray tux female out. I knew that to be the source cat, from many disgruntled park residents who had various names and descriptions for the occupant of trailer 52 and none of them were hospitable descriptions.

I wondered if he knew what his neighbors thought of his cat behavior, which caused then gossip about his general behavior and habits. Or if he cared.

I walked up to his door. The one thing I had heard was, that if he wasn't drunk, he did like cats. A heavy set bald man scarcely clad opened the door. His face already was screwed up angry. He wanted to open that door and bellow.

I didn't give him the chance. I stuck my card out at arm's length right even with his face, which topped out at my shoulder height and started off my pitch: "Hi, I'm out to save the feline world. I'm here to get the park cats fixed, end the suffering, and I hear you have some cats that are not fixed."

My luck wasn't holding. He was drunk. You can't reason with a drunk.

He began his pitch. "Hell, someone should haul all these cats out and kill em right now."

"I'm not interested in hearing that," I stated without emotion. "I'd like to get that female there fixed tomorrow. In fact, I can take her right now and she'll be back fixed tomorrow night, no charge to you."

Only drunks and idiots pass on a free spay. He fit both categories.

The park manager already told residents she has no power, which took away any she might wield. Rules state no unfixed cats. Rules clearly state that. And almost everyone in the trailer park has ignored that rule. This man more so than anyone, I'd been told.

On he went, like he didn't even know he was talking. The kids across the street, who had been following me around the park, offering up facts about who does and who doesn't fix their pets and theories as to why, had stopped their play to watch and listen.

"This is my roommates cat and I can't allow that without her saying so. Besides, if you damn people would get all the males fixed, I wouldn't have to fix my female, would I? WOULD I?" That last "would I" had been emphasized by bellowing and by a fat index finger extended nearly out to touch my nose. However, I did not take a step back.

"Your roommate? Oh, you mean your disabled wheelchair bound daughter when you say 'roommate'. You're using that word kind of loosely. Fat chance, Mister, that I'm going to round up every male within ten miles to fix so you don't have to fix your female. Park rules state she has to be fixed. The manager is glad I'm here getting all the cats fixed. I'm going to tell her I am leaving this park without taking in one more cat if she doesn't enforce that rule and your cat isn't next on the table." With that, I left.

That's the bottom line too. The other tenant has three traps set and tomorrow morning, I will take back the five cats fixed today, pick up any she caught in the night, then visit the manager with the ultimatum because I'm wasting my time there, offering them a permanent solution, if the manager will not enforce the fixed pet rule. I'm not budging this time. She told me two days ago, she would start enforcing that rule, that before, she didn't because she knew people didn't have the money to fix their cats, but if it's free----well, that excuse is down the drain.

It's enforce that rule now, as she said she would, or I'm gone.