Another Starved Kitten

Early this morning, barely awake, still stiff and sore from yesterday, cell phone is ringing somewhere.  I don't get many calls anymore.  They are all still people wanting me to help them with some cat problem, so I don't even answer anymore, or check messages.  I rarely know exactly where my cell phone is lately.

I'm a disconnected person and I like being disconnected.

But how I wish I could still be helping people with their cat problems.  How I wish I still could be doing that. I'm going to cry if I say much more.

There's nothing good going on out there in the world.  If there is, it's so little good, it won't be mentioned.  Only do you hear of the bad.  I'm glad I get no TV shows anymore.  I don't bother looking at online news.

This morning I answered the phone.  Lonely I guess.  Still aching for human contact I guess.

It was the mechanic, at an auto shop.  A little kitten was following two people then ran into their auto shop.  He yelled at them to come get their kitten and they just turned and laughed.  I asked what they looked like.  He said they looked like Albany tweeker heads.

I went over after KATA told me they'd take him.   He had all these fleas and clung to me for dear life once in my arms.  Poor little guy.  He's probably three, four months old, skinny and once I put a bowl of food in front of him, he started purring his head off, like "omg food and all for me!"  Poor little guy.

I named him Tonka and vaccinated him and flea treated him and gave him wormer.  Then I carted him off to the work place of one of the KATA volunteers.  He's in good hands.  Poor little guy.

Tonka eating!

They have Ben Zen over there too, from the neighbors garage.  He's doing a lot better.  He was really happy to see other kittens there he could play with.  He's gaining weight and has that happy look to his face now.

Over in Lebanon, a friend had one of the cats she fed disappear.  She was a sweet girl, a stray, I got her fixed for her, along with many others.   I was helping her look when her husband tells me, through his drunk, he knows what happened to her cat but he's not telling his wife.  "What happened?" I say, the ire rising inside me.  "Neighbors coon dog killed it," he says, but don't tell her.  I told her.  He'd known for over a week and watched his wife search and worry.  He doesn't like cats much but that is not nice to not tell her and to not stick up for his wife in that godforsaken drug and bullshit infested area where the only thing you could love, if you could muster it, would be a stray cat.

In another part of Lebanon, the place Blueberry came from,  two cats so far have been lured into the road with a laser pointer then struck and killed by cars.  It's a sick twisted game played by some tweeker heads too.  There's nothing sacred in this area, no love of much of anything I think to myself.  How'd I end up here I wonder and how do I make it out alive?

Old Electra in the Window